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A  Tale  of  the 
Coming  of  Christ 

By 

irtttng  IBarfjrllrr 

Author  of 

"  Eben  Holden  "  "  D'ri  and  I " 
"  Darrel  of  the  Blessed  Isles  " 


New  York  and  London 

Harper  &   Brothers    Publishers 


1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by  IRVING  BACHBLLBR. 

AH  rights  reserved. 
Published  August,  1904. 


A  QIak  0f  %  QIflmm0  of  OIJ|n0t 


OME  had  passed  the  sum- 
mits and  stood  looking  into 
the  dark  valley  of  fourteen 
hundred  years.  Behind  her 
the  graves  of  Caesar  and 
Sallust  and  Cicero  and 
Catullus  and  Vergil  and 
Horace;  before  her  centuries  of  madness 
and  treading  down;  round  about  her  a 
multitude  sickening  of  luxury,  their  houses 
filled  with  spoil,  their  mouths  with  folly, 
their  souls  with  discontent;  above  her 
only  mystery  and  silence;  in  her  train, 
philosophers  questioning  if  it  were  not 
better  for  a  man  had  he  never  been 
born— deeming  life  a  misfortune  and  ex- 
3 


Hrrnilius 

tinction  the  only  happiness;  poets  singing 
no  more  of  "pleasantries  and  trifles,"  but 
seeking  favor  with  poor  obscenities.  Soon 
they  were  even  to  celebrate  the  virtue  of 
harlots,  the  integrity  of  thieves,  the  tender- 
ness  of  murderers,  the  justice  of  oppression. 
Leading  the  caravan  were  types  abhorrent 
and  self-opposed — effeminate  men,  mascu- 
line women,  cheerful  cynics,  infidel  priests, 
wealthy  people  with  no  credit,  patricians, 
honoring  and  yet  despising  the  gods,  hating 
and  yet  living  on  the  populace.  Here  was 
the  spectacle  of  a  republican  empire,  and  an 
emperor  gathering  power  while  he  affected 
to  disdain  it. 

The  splendor  of  the  capital  had  attracted 
from  all  nations  the  idle  rich,  gamblers, 
speculators,  voluptuaries,  profligates,  in- 
triguers, criminals.  To  such  an  extreme 
had  luxury  been  carried  that  nothing  was 
too  sacred,  nothing  too  costly  to  be  enjoyed. 
Digestion  had  become  a  science,  courtship 
an  art,  sleep  a  nightmare,  comfort  an  ac- 
complishment, and  the  very  act  of  living  an 
4 


industry.  Almost  one  may  say  that  the 
gods  lived  only  in  the  imagination  of  the 
ignorant  and  the  jests  of  the  learned.  In 
a  growing  patriciate  home  had  become  a 
weariness,  marriage  a  form,  children  a 
trouble,  and  the  decline  of  motherhood  an 
alarming  fact.  Augustus  tried  the  remedy 
of  legislation.  Henceforth  marriage  be- 
came a  duty  to  the  state.  As  between  men 
and  women,  things  were  near  a  turning- 
point.  Woman  cannot  long  endure  scorn 
nor  the  absence  of  veneration.  A  law 
older  than  the  tablets  of  stone  shall  be  her 
defence.  Love  is  the  price  of  motherhood. 
Soon  or  late,  unless  it  be  mingled  in  some 
degree  with  her  passion,  the  wonderful 
gift  is  withdrawn  and  men  cease  to  be  born 
of  her.  Slowly,  both  the  bitterness  and 
the  understanding  of  its  loss  turn  the  world 
to  virtue.  A  new  and  lofty  sentiment  was 
appearing.  Woman,  weary  of  her  part 
in  the  human  comedy,  had  begun  to  in- 
spire a  love  sublime  as  the  miracle  in  which 
she  is  born  to  act. 

5 


Happily,  there  were  good  people  in  Rome, 
even  noble  families,  with  whom  sacrifice 
had  still  a  sacred  power,  and  who  practised 
the  four  virtues  of  honor,  bravery,  wisdom, 
and  temperance.  In  rural  Latium,  rich 
and  poor  clung  to  the  old  faith,  and  every- 
where a  plebeian  feared  alike  the  assessor 
and  the  gods,  and  sacrificed  to  both. 

It  is  no  wonder  the  gods  were  falling 
when  even  Jupiter  had  been  outdone  by  a 
modest  man  who  dwelt  on  the  Palatine. 
One  might  have  seen  him  there  any  day — 
a  rather  delicate  figure  with  shiny  blue 
eyes  and  hair  now  turning  gray.  He  flung 
his  lightning  with  unerring  aim  across  the 
great  purple  sea  into  Arabia,  Africa,  and 
Spain,  and  northward  to  the  German 
Ocean  and  eastward  to  the  land  of  the 
Goths.  The  genius  of  this  remarkable  man 
had  outdone  the  imagination  of  priest  and 
poet.  A  genius  for  organization,  like  that 
of  his  illustrious  uncle,  gave  to  Augustus  a 
power  greater  than  human  hands  had  yet 
wielded. 

6 


A  bit  of  gossip  had  travelled  far  and 
excited  his  curiosity.  It  spoke  of  a  new 
king,  with  power  above  that  of  men,  who 
was  to  conquer  the  world.  Sayings  of 
certain  learned  men  came  out  of  Judea  into 
the  land  of  lost  hope.  They  told  of  the 
king  of  promise — that  he  would  bring  to 
men  the  gift  of  immortal  life,  that  the 
heavens  would  declare  his  authority.  Super- 
stitious to  the  blood  and  bone,  not  a  few 
were  thrilled  by  the  message. 

The  minds  of  thinking  men  were  sad, 
fearful,  and  beset  with  curiosity.  "  If  there 
be  no  gods,"  they  were  wont  to  ask,  "  have 
we  any  hope  and  responsibility?"  They 
studied  the  philosophers  Plato,  Aristotle, 
Zeno,  Epicurus,  and  were  unsatisfied. 

The  nations  were  at  peace,  but  not  the 
souls  of  men.  A  universal  and  mighty  war 
of  the  spirit  was  near  at  hand.  The  skir- 
mishers were  busy — patrician  and  plebeian, 
master  and  slave,  oppressor  and  oppressed. 
Soon  all  were  to  see  the  line  of  battle,  the 
immortal  captains,  the  children  of  darkness, 
7 


the  children  of  light,  the  beginning  of  a  great 
revolution. 

Rome  was  like  a  weary  child  whose  toys 
are  gods  and  men,  and  who,  being  weary 
of  them,  has  yet  a  curiosity  in  their  de- 
struction. 


J 


'HOSE  days  it  was  near 
twelve  o'clock  by  the  great 
dial  of  history.  One  day, 
about  mid  -  afternoon,  the 
old  capital  lay  glowing  in 
the  sunlight.  Its  hills  were 
white  with  marble  and 
green  with  gardens,  and  traced  and  spot- 
ted and  flecked  with  gold ;  its  thoroughfares 
were  bright  with  color — white,  purple,  yel- 
low, scarlet — like  a  field  of  roses  and  ama- 
rantus. 

The  fashionable  day  had  begun;  knight 
and  lady  were  now  making  and  receiving 
visits. 

Five  litters  and  some  forty  slaves,  who 
9 


bore  and  followed  them,  were  waiting  in 
the  court  of  the  palace  of  the  Lady  Lucia. 
Beyond  the  walls  of  white  marble  a  noble 
company  was  gathered  that  summer  day. 
There  were  the  hostess  and  her  daughter; 
three  young  noblemen,  the  purple  stripes 
on  each  angusticlave  telling  of  knightly 
rank ;  a  Jewish  prince  in  purple  and  gold ; 
an  old  philosopher,  and  a  poet  who  had 
been  reading  love  lines.  It  was  the  age 
of  pagan  chivalry,  and  one  might  imperil 
his  future  with  poor  wit  or  a  faulty  epi- 
gram. Those  older  men  had  long  held  the 
floor,  and  their  hostess,  seeking  to  rally  the 
young  knights,  challenged  their  skill  in 
courtly  compliment. 

"O  men,  who  have  forgotten  the  love  of 
women  these  days,  look  at  her!" 

So  spoke  the  Lady  Lucia — she  that  was 
widow  of  the  Prasfect  Publius,  who  fell 
with  half  his  cohort  in  the  desert  wars. 

She  had  risen  from  a  chair  of  ebony  en- 
riched  by   cunning    Etruscan    art  —  four 
mounted  knights  charging  across  its  heavy 
10 


back  in  armor  of  wrought  gold.  She 
stopped,  facing  the  company,  between  two 
columns  of  white  marble  beautifully  sculpt- 
ured. Upon  each  a  vine  rose,  limberly  and 
with  soft  leaves  in  the  stone,  from  base  to 
capital.  Her  daughter  stood  in  the  midst 
of  a  group  of  maids  who  were  dressing  her 
hair. 

"Arria,  will  you  come  to  me?"  said  the 
Lady  Lucia. 

The  girl  came  quickly — a  dainty  creat- 
ure of  sixteen,  her  dark  hair  waving,  under 
jewelled  fillets,  to  a  knot  behind.  From 
below  the  knot  a  row  of  curls  fell  upon  the 
folds  of  her  outer  tunic.  It  was  a  filmy, 
transparent  thing — this  garment — through 
which  one  could  see  the  white  of  arm  and 
breast  and  the  purple  fillets  on  her  legs. 

"She  is  indeed  beautiful  in  the  yellow 
tunic.  I  should  think  that  scarlet  rug  had 
caught  fire  and  wrapped  her  in  its  flame," 
said  the  poet  Ovid. 

"Nay,  her  heart  is  afire,  and  its  light 
hath  the  color  of  roses,"  said  an  old  phi- 
ii 


losopher  who  sat  by.  "Can  you  not  see  it 
shining  through  her  cheeks?" 

"Young  sirs,"  said  the  Lady  Lucia,  with 
a  happy  smile,  as  she  raised  her  daughter's 
hand,  "now  for  your  offers." 

It  was  a  merry  challenge,  and  shows  how 
lightly  they  treated  a  sacred  theme  those 
days. 

First  rose  the  grave  senator,  Aulus 
Valerius  Maro  by  name. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  stepping  forward 
and  bowing  low,  "  I  offer  my  heart  and  my 
fortune,  and  the  strength  of  my  arms  and  the 
fleetness  of  my  feet  and  the  fair  renown  of 
my  fathers." 

The  Lady  Lucia  turned  to  her  daughter 
with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Brave  words  are  not  enough,"  said  the 
fair  Roman  maiden,  smiling,  as  her  eyes 
fell. 

Then  came  the  effeminate  Gracus,  in 
head-dress  and  neckerchief,  frilled  robe  and 
lady's  sandals.  He  was  of  great  sires  who 
had  borne  the  Roman  eagles  into  Gaul. 

12 


B^rgiltua 

"Good  lady,"  said  he,  "I  would  give  my 
life." 

"And  had  I  more  provocation,"  said 
Arria,  raising  a  jewelled  bodkin,  "  I  would 
take  it." 

Now  the  splendid  Antipater,  son  of  Herod 
the  Great,  was  up  and  speaking.  "I  of- 
fer," said  he,  "my  heart  and  wealth  and 
half  my  hopes,  and  the  jewels  of  my  mother, 
and  a  palace  in  the  beautiful  city  of  Jeru- 
^alem." 

"And  a  pretty  funeral,"  the  girl  remark- 
ed, thoughtfully.  "Jerusalem  is  half-way 
to  Hades." 

The  Roman  matron  turned,  and  put  her 
arm  around  the  waist  of  the  girl  and  drew 
her  close.  A  young  man  rose  from  his 
chair  and  approached  them.  He  was  Ver- 
gilius,  son  of  Varro,  and  of  equestrian 
knighthood.  His  full  name  was  Quintus 
Vergilius  Varro,  but  all  knew  the  youth  by 
his  nomen.  Tall  and  erect,  with  curly, 
blond  locks  and  blue  eyes  and  lips  deli- 
cately curved,  there  was  in  that  hall  no 
13 


ancestral  mask  or  statue  so  nobly  favored. 
He  had  been  taught  by  an  old  philosopher 
to  value  truth  as  the  better  part  of  honor — 
a  view  not  common  then,  but  therein  was 
a  new  light,  spreading  mysteriously. 

"Dear  Lady  Lucia,"  said  he,  "I  cannot 
amuse  you  with  idle  words.  I  fear  to 
speak,  and  yet  silence  would  serve  me  ill. 
I  offer  not  the  strength  of  my  arms  nor  the 
fleetness  of  my  feet,  for  they  may  fail  me  to- 
morrow ;  nor  my  courage,  for  that  has  nevei^ 
been  tried ;  nor  the  renown  of  my  fathers, 
for  that  is  not  mine  to  give ;  nor  my  life,  for 
that  belongs  to  my  country ;  nor  my  fortune, 
for  I  should  blush  to  offer  what  may  be  used 
to  buy  cattle.  I  would  give  a  thing  greater 
and  more  lasting  than  all  of  these.  It  is 
my  love." 

The  girl  turned  half  away,  blushing  pink. 
All  had  flung  off  the  mask  of  comedy  and 
now  wore  a  look  of  surprise. 

"By  my  faith!"  said  the  poet,  "this 
young  knight  meant  his  words." 

"  A  man  of  sincerity,  upon  my  soul !"  said 
14 


the  old  philosopher.  "  I  have  put  my  hope 
in  him,  and  so  shall  Rome.  A  lucky  girl 
is  she,  for  has  he  not  riches,  talent,  honor, 
temperance,  courage,  and  the  beauty  of  a 
god?  And  was  I  not  his  teacher?" 

"My  brave  Vergilius,"  the  matron  an- 
swered, "you  are  like  the  knights  of  old  I 
have  heard  my  father  tell  of.  They  had  such 
a  way  with  them — never  a  smile  and  a  mel- 
ancholy look  in  their  faces  when  they  spoke 
of  love.  I  give  you  the  crown  of  gallantry, 
and,  if  she  be  willing,  you  shall  walk  with 
her  in  the  garden.  That  is  your  reward.*' 

Vergilius,  advancing,  took  the  girl's  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

"Will  you  go  with  me?"  said  he. 

"On  one  condition,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing down  at  the  folds  of  her  tunic. 

41  And  it  is?" 

"That  you  will  entertain  me  with  phi- 
losophy and  the  poets,"  she  answered,  with 
a  smile. 

"And  with  no  talk  of  love,"  the  matron 
added,  as  Arria  took  his  arm. 


They  walked  through  the  long  hall  of  the 
palace,  over  soft  rugs  and  great  mosaics,  and 
between  walls  aglow  with  tints  of  sky  and 
garden.  These  two  bore  with  them  a  tender 
feeling  as  they  passed  the  figures  of  em- 
battled horse  and  host  in  carven  wood,  and 
mural  painting  and  colored  mosaic  and 
wrought  metal  —  symbols  of  the  martial 
spirit  of  the  empire  now  oddly  in  contrast 
with  their  own.  They  came  out  upon  a 
peristyle  overlooking  an  ample  garden 
wherein  were  vines,  flowers,  and  fruit 
trees. 

"You  have  a  way  of  words,"  said  she. 
"It  is  almost  possible  to  believe  you." 

He  stopped  and  for  a  long  moment 
looked  into  her  eyes.  "I  love  you,  sweet 
girl,"  he  said,  softly;  "I  love  you.  As  I 
live,  I  speak  the  truth." 

"And  you  a  man!"  she  exclaimed,  in- 
credulously. 

"Ay,  strange  as  it  may  be,  a  Roman." 

"  My  mother  has  told  me,"  said  she, 
looking  down  at  her  sandal,  "that  when  a 
16 


man  speaks,  it  is  well  to  listen  but  never  to 
believe." 

"They  are  not  easy  to  understand — 
these  men  and  women,"  said  he,  thought- 
fully. "  Sometimes  I  think  they  would  be 
nobler  if  they  were  dumb  as  dogs.  Albeit 
I  suppose  they  would  find  a  new  way  of 
lying.  But,  O  sweet  sister  of  Appius, 
try  to  believe  me,  though  you  believe 
no  other,  and  I  —  I  shall  believe  you  al- 
ways." 

"You  had  better  not,"  said  she,  with  a 
merry  glance. 

"I  must" 

"  But  you  will  doubt  me  soon,  for  I  shall 
say  that  I  do  not  love  you." 

For  a  little  he  knew  not  how  to  answer. 
She  turned  away,  looking  off  at  the  Capi- 
toline,  where  the  toil  and  art  of  earth  had 
wrought  to  show  the  splendor  of  heaven. 
Its  beautiful,  barbaric  temples  were  glowing 
in  the  sunlight. 

"  Life  would  be  too  serious  if  there  were 
no  dissimulation."  She  looked  up  at  him 


as  she  spoke,  and  he  saw  a  little  quiver  in 
her  curved  lips. 

"That  bow  of  your  lips — I  should  think 
it  fashioned  by  Praxiteles — and  it  is  for  the 
arrows  of  truth." 

"But  a  girl — she  must  deceive  a  little." 

They  were  now  among  the  vines. 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"Stupid  fellow!"  said  she,  in  a  whisper, 
as  she  turned,  looking  up  at  him.  "  Son  of 
Varo,  lovers  are  not  ever  to  be  trusted .  Shall 
I  tell  you  a  story  ?  One  day  I  was  in  the  Via 
Sacra  and  a  young  man  caught  and  held 
me  for  a  moment  and  tried  to  touch  my 
lips — that  boy,  Antipater,  a  good-looking 
wretch!" 

She  gave  her  shoulders  a  little  shrug  and 
drew  her  robe  closer.  "  He  had  come  out 
'  of  the  Basilica  Julia,  and  I  am  sure  he  had 
been  over  -  drinking.  I  cried  'Help!'  and 
quickly  a  man  came  and  stood  between  us ; 
and  oh !  young  sir,  as  I  live,  it  was  our  great 
father  Augustus,  and  Antipater  knelt  be- 
fore him. 

18 


"'Young  man,'  said  the  father  —  and 
his  eyes  shone  —  '  rise  and  look  yonder. 
Do  you  see  the  citadel?  Under  its  marble 
floor  there  is  a  grave.  It  is  that  of  one  who 
kissed  a  vestal  and  was  buried  alive.  There 
are  sacred  people  in  Rome,  and  among  them 
is  this  daughter  of  my  beloved  Publius. 
Go  you  to  your  palace,  son  of  Herod,  and, 
hereafter,  forget  not  that  you  are  in  Rome.' 

"He  was  angry,  and  I,  so  frightened! 
Then  he  took  me  home  and  said  he  would 
be  my  father,  and  that  in  good  time  he 
would  choose  a  husband  for  me." 

"The  gods  grant  that  he  choose  me." 

"The  gods  forbid  it,  son  of  Varro." 

"And  why?" 

Slowly  and  with  assumed  severity  she 
spoke.  "  Because  —  I  —  do  —  not  —  love— 
you." 

"Cruel  one!"  said  he,  turning  and  biting 
his  lips.  "Your  words  are  as  the  blow  of 
the  pilum." 

"  Have  they  indeed  wounded  you  ?"     She 
touched  his  hand  with  a  look  of  sympathy. 
19 


"They  have  made  me  sick  at  heart." 

"Then  would  I  not  believe  them,"  said 
she,  tenderly,  slipping  her  slender  fingers 
into  his. 

He  pressed  her  hand.  "And  do  you, 
then,  love  me?" 

' '  No — I — do — not — love — you . ' ' 

"  You  are  a  strange  people — you  maidens 
of  the  capital,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand  in 
both  of  his.  "  Rome  has  conquered  every- 
thing save  its  women." 

She  parted  her  tunic  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her  white  bosom,  and  with  her 
delicate  fingers  brushed  off  a  bit  of  dust 
which  had  fallen  from  the  vine  above  them. 

"I  do  think  much  of  love,"  said  she, 
thoughtfully,  still  looking  down  at  her 
breast. 

"And  of  me,"  he  insisted. 

"Nay,  not  of  you,"  she  answered,  with- 
out delay. 

"I  shall  know,"  said  he,  wistfully,  "for 
I  shall  consult  the  fates.  I  have  here  a 
sacred  coin.  An  old  dame  found  it  when 
20 


she  was  digging  in  the  side  of  Soracte. 
See,  it  has  on  its  face  the  head  of  Apollo, 
and  opposite  is  an  arrow  in  a  death- 
hand.  And  the  hag  had  an  odd  dream 
of  this  coin,  so  she  told  me  —  that  it  fell 
out  of  the  sky,  and  was,  indeed,  from  the 
treasury  of  the  gods,  and  had  in  it  a  won- 
derful power  in  all  mysteries.  And  one 
might  tell  by  tossing  it  in  the  air  and  noting 
its  fall,  if  he  were  loved  or  hated  by  the 
first  one  he  should  see  after  learning  its 
answer.  I  have  never  known  it  to  fail. 
If  the  head  is  up  you  love  me,"  said  he, 
tossing  the  disk  of  metal. 

It  fell  and  lay  at  his  feet. 

"The  head!"  he  exclaimed,  with  joy. 

"Is  it  really  blest  of  the  gods?"  she  in- 
quired, eagerly,  her  cheeks  aflame.  "Is  it 
indeed  blest?" 

"  So  said  the  woman  who  gave  it  me." 

"  Now  I  shall  toss  it,"  said  she,  taking  the 
coin. 

"Ah!  you  would  know  if  I  love  you,"  he 
answered. 

21 


The  coin  leaped  high  and  fell  and  rolled 
along  the  marble  walk.  Both  followed 
eagerly,  he  leading,  and,  as  it  stopped,  he 
quickly  covered  the  bit  of  metal  with  his 
hand. 

"  Let  me  see !"  said  she,  her  hand  upon  his 
wrist. 

"Do  not  look." 

"Let  me  see  it!"  she  insisted. 

"Sweet  sister  of  Appius,  I  beg  of  you, 
here  on  my  knees,  do  not  look  at  the  coin ! 
I  will  give  you  the  white  steeds  from  Cap- 
padocia,  but  do  not  look." 

"  Let  me  see  it,  I  say,  son  of  Varro !"  She 
was  tugging  at  his  wrist,  and  now,  indeed, 
there  was  a  pretty  pleading  in  her  voice. 
The  words  were  to  him  as  pearls  strung 
on  a  silken  thread. 

"Wait  a  little." 

"  I  shall  not  wait." 

"Sweet  flower  of  Rome,"  said  he,  look- 
ing into  her  eyes,  "I  know  that  you  are 
mine  now !  Your  voice — it  is  like  the  love- 
call  of  the  robin!" 

22 


"Stubborn  boy!  Do  you  think  I  care 
for  you?"  She  stopped  and  looked  into 
his  eyes. 

"Else  why  should  you  wish  to  see  the 
coin?"  said  he.  "But,  look!  Upon  my 
soul  it  is  false!"  A  little  silence  followed. 

"  Tis  false!"  he  repeated.  "I  swear  the 
coin  lies,  for  I  do  love  you,  dearly." 

"It  does  not  lie,"  she  whispered. 

He  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"And  I  know,"  he  answered,  "why  you 
think  it  cannot  lie.  It  said,  before,  that 
you  love  me,  and  it  was  right." 

She  thrust  him  away  gently,  and,  rising, 
as  if  stricken  with  sudden  fear  of  him,  ran  a 
few  paces  up  the  walk.  She  turned  quick- 
ly, and  looked  back  at  him  as  he  approached. 
Her  face  had  grown  pale. 

"  I — I  shall  never  speak  with  you  again," 
she  whispered. 

"Oh,    have   mercy   upon   me,   beautiful 
sister  of  Appius!"  said  the  young  knight, 
and  there  was  a  note  of  despair  in  his  voice. 
"  Have  mercy  upon  me !" 
23 


"Young  sir,"  said  she,  retreating  slowly, 
as  he  advanced,  "  I  do  not  love  you — I  do 
not  love  you." 

She  turned  quickly,  and  ran  to  the  per- 
istyle, and,  stopping  not  to  glance  back  at 
him,  entered  the  great  marble  home  of  her 
fathers. 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  at  the  sun- 
glow  behind  roof  and  dome  and  tower. 
A  bridge  of  light,  spanning  the  hollow  of 
the  city,  had  laid  its  golden  timbers  from 
hill  to  hill ;  and  for  a  little  the  young  man 
felt  as  if  he  were  drowning  in  the  shadows 
under  it.  He  turned  presently  and  hurried 
into  the  palace. 


E  is  more  honored  than 
Jupiter  these  days,"  the 
philosopher  was  saying  as 
Vergilius  re-entered. 

"Who?"     inquired     the 
young  man. 

"Who    else   but   Csesar, 
and  it  is  well.     The  gods — who  are  they?" 
"The    adopted    children   of  Vergil   and 
Homer,"    said    Appius,    brother   of   Arria, 
who  had  just  returned  from  the  baths. 

"But  our  great  father  Augustus — who 
can  doubt  that  he  deserves  our  worship?" 
said  the  philosopher,  a  subtle  irony  in  his 
voice.  It  was  this  learned  man  who  had 
long  been  the  instructor  of  Vergilius. 
*  25 


"Who,  indeed?"  was  the  remark  of  an- 
other. 

"But  these  gods!" 

"At  least  they  are  not  likely  to  cut  off 
one's  head,"  said  Aulus. 

"Speak  not  lightly  of  the  gods,"  said 
Vergilius.  "They  are  still  a  power  with  the 
people,  and  the  people  have  great  need  of 
them.  What  shall  become  of  Rome  when 
the  gods  fall?" 

"It  shall  sicken,"  said  the  philosopher, 
with  a  lift  of  his  hand.  "You  that  are 
young  may  live  to  see  the  end.  It  shall  be 
like  the  opening  of  the  underworld.  Our 
republic  is  false,  our  gods  are  false,  and, 
indeed,  I  know  but  one  truth." 

"And  what  may  it  be?"  said  another. 

"We  are  all  liars,"  he  quickly  answered. 

"O  temporal"  said  the  Lady  Lucia.  "It 
is  an  evil  day,  especially  among  men. 
When  Quinta  Claudia  went  with  her  noble 
sisters  to  meet  the  Idaean  mother  at  Ter- 
racina  they  were  able  to  find  in  Rome 
one  virtuous  man  to  escort  them.  But 
26 


that  was  more  than  two  hundred  years 
ago." 

' '  If  one  were  to  find  him  now,  and  he  were 
to  go,"  said  the  philosopher,  "by  the  gods 
above  us !  I  fear  he  would  return  a  sad  rake 
indeed." 

"'Tis  not  a  pleasant  theme/'  said  the 
Lady  Lucia,  by  way  of  introducing  another. 

"The  dear  old  girl!"  said  young  Gracus, 
in  a  low  tone,  as  he  turned  to  the  senator. 
"Her  hair  is  a  lie,  her  complexion  is  a  lie, 
her  lips  are  a  lie." 

"And  her  life  is  a  lie,"  said  the  other. 

"You  enjoyed  your  walk?"  asked  the 
mother  of  Arria,  addressing  Vergilius. 

"The  walk  was  a  delight  to  me  and  its 
end  a  sorrow,"  he  answered. 

"And  you  obeyed  me?" 

"To  the  letter."  It  is  true,  he  thought, 
we  are  a  generation  of  liars,  but  how  may 
one  help  it  ?  Then,  quickly,  a  way  seemed 
to  suggest  itself,  and  he  added:  "Madame, 
forgive  me.  I  do  now  remember  we  had  a 
word  or  two  about  love ;  but,  you  see,  I  was 
27 


telling  the  legend  of  this  coin.     It  has  the 
power  to  show  one  if  he  be  loved." 

"By  tossing?" 

"By  tossing.  Head,  yes;  the  reverse, 
no." 

"  Let  me  try."  She  flung  it  to  the  oaken 
beams  and  it  fell  on  the  great  rug  beside 
her. 

"  Madame,  the  hand  is  up,"  said  Vergilius. 
''I  fear  it  is  not  infallible." 

"Let  me  see,"  she  answered,  stooping 
gravely  to  survey  the  coin.  Something 
passed  between  her  and  her  pleasure,  and 
for  one  second  a  shadow  wavered  across  her 
face. 

"It  is  Death's  hand,  of  course,"  she  re- 
marked, sadly.  "  Love  is  for  the  young  and 
death  is  for  the  old." 

"  Old,  madame !  Why,  your  cheeks  have 
roses  in  them." 

"Good  youth,  you  are  too  frank,"  said 
she,  with  a  quick  glance  about  her.  "  Did 
the  coin  say  that  she  loved  you?" 

"It  did." 

28 


And  what  did  she  say  ?" 

The  young  man  hesitated. 

"Come,  you  innocent !  Of  course,  I  knew 
that  you  would  talk  of  nothing  but  love. 
What  said  she?" 

"That  she  does  not  love  me;  but  I  am 
sure  it  is  mere  coquetry." 

"  Dear  youth!  You  have  a  cunning  eye. 
This  very  day  speak,  my  brave  Vergilius — 
speak  to  her  brother  Appius.  To  -  night 
take  him  to  dine  with  you." 

"I  had  so  planned." 

A  gong  of  silver  rang  in  the  palace  halls. 
It  was  the  signal  to  prepare  for  dinner,  and 
the  guests  made  their  farewells.  Soon  Ap- 
pius and  the  young  lover  walked  side  by 
side  in  the  direction  of  the  Palatine. 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing?"  the 
former  inquired,  presently. 

"Only  dreaming." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  love  and  happiness,  and  your  sis- 
ter." 

"My  sister?" 

29 


"Yes;  I  love  her  and  wish  to  make  her 
my  wife." 

"You  have  wealth  and  birth  and  wit  and 
good  prospects.  I  can  see  no  objection  to 
you.  But  love — love  is  a  thing  for  women 
to  talk  about." 

"You  are  wrong,  Appius.  I  can  feel  it 
in  my  soul.  And,  believe  me,  I  am  no 
longer  in  Rome.  I  have  found  the  gate- 
way of  a  better  world — like  that  heaven 
they  speak  of  in  the  Trastevere — full  of 
peace  and  beauty." 

"You  have,  indeed,  been  dreaming,"  said 
the  other.  "But,  Vergilius,  there  is  one 
higher  than  I  who  shall  choose  her  hus- 
band— the  imperator.  Does  he  know  you  ?" 

"  I  have  met  him,  of  course,  but  do  much 
fear  he  would  not  remember  me." 

"  We  may  know  shortly.  Every  seventh 
day  this  year  he  has  sat,  like  a  beggar,  at 
his  gate  asking  for  alms.  To-day  we  shall 
see  him  there." 

"It  is  an  odd  whim.". 

"  Hush !  you  know  the  people  as  well  as  I, 
3° 


and  he  must  please  them,"  the  other  whis- 
pered. "He  must  conceal  his  power  if  he 
would  live  out  his  time.  I  will  present  you, 
and  perhaps  he  may  be  gracious — ay,  may 
even  bid  you  to  his  banquet." 

"A  modest  home,"  said  young  Vergilius. 

Now  they  were  nearing  the  palace  of  that 
mild  and  quiet  gentleman  whose  name  and 
title — Gaius  Julius  Caesar  Octavianus  Augus- 
tus— had  terrified  the  world ;  whose  delicate 
hands  flung  the  levin  of  his  power  to  the 
far  boundaries  of  India  and  upper  Gaul,  to 
the  distant  shores  of  Spain  and  Africa,  and 
into  deserts  beyond  the  Euphrates. 

"Many  a  poor  patrician  has  better  fur- 
niture and  more  servants  and  a  nobler 
palace,"  said  Appius.  "  Rather  plain  wood, 
divans  out  of  fashion,  rugs  o'erworn;  but 
you  have  seen  them.  He  alone  can  afford 
that  kind  of  thing." 

"He  has  a  fondness  for  old  things." 

"But  not  for  old  women,  my  dear  fel- 
low." 

"Indeed!  And  he  is  himself  sixty-one." 
31 


"Hist — the  imperator!  There,  by  the 
gate  yonder." 

An  erect  figure  of  a  man  rather  above 
medium  height,  in  a  coarse,  gray  toga,  stood 
by  one  of  the  white  columns.  Three  Moor- 
ish children  were  playing  about  his  knees, 
and  a  senator  was  talking  with  him. 

"  My  public  services  are  familiar  to  you," 
said  the  senator,  as  the  young  knights  wait- 
ed some  twenty  paces  off.  "A  gift  of  two 
hundred  thousand  denarii  would  be  fitting, 
and,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so,  it 
would  delight  the  populace.  Indeed,  'tis 
generally  believed  you  have  already  given 
me  a  large  sum." 

"But  see  that  you  do  not  believe  it," 
blandly  spake  the  strange  emperor,  for 
albeit  Rome  was  then  a  republic  in  name 
it  was  an  empire  in  fact,  and  Augustus, 
wielding  the  power  of  an  emperor,  refused 
the  title.  Turning,  he  began  to  play  with 
the  children. 

"Great  and  beloved  father!  I  hope,  at 
least,  you  will  consider  my  prayer." 
32 


"Good  senator,  I  have  considered.  You 
ask  for  two  hundred  thousand  denarii.  I  can 
give  you  only  the  opportunity  of  earning 
them.  As  to  myself,  I  am  poor.  Look  at 
me.  Even  my  time  belongs  to  the  people, 
and  it  is  passing,  my  dear  senator — it  is 
passing." 

The  importunate  man  saw  the  subtle 
meaning  in  these  words  and  went  his  way. 

The  emperor  sat  down,  a  child  upon  each 
knee,  as  the  young  men  approached  him. 
His  head  was  bare  and  his  fair,  curly  locks, 
growing  low  upon  his  forehead,  were  now 
touched  with  gray.  He  looked  up  at  the 
two,  his  eyes  blue,  brilliant,  piercing. 

"My  beloved  Appius,"  said  he,  in  a  gen- 
tle tone,  as  he  rose.  "And  this — let  me 
think — ah,  it  is  Vergilius,  the  son  of  Varro." 

"It  is  wonderful  you  should  remember 
me,"  said  Vergilius. 

"Wonderful?     No.     I    could    tell    your 

age,  your  misdeeds,  your  virtues,  and  how 

often  you  failed  to  answer  the  roll-calls  in 

Cappadocia.     Well,  I  dare  say  they  were 

33 


pretty  girls.  But  I  forget;  I  am  to-day 
seeking  alms,  my  good  children,  for  the 
poor  of  Rome.  I  am  as  ten  thousand  of 
the  hungry  standing  before  you  here  and 
asking  for  bread.  In  their  name  I  shall  re- 
ceive, thankfully,  what  you  may  bestow." 

Appius  gave  a  handful  of  coins;  Ver- 
gilius  emptied  his  purse. 

"  Tis  not  enough,"  said  the  latter. 
"Your  words  have  touched  me.  To-night 
I  shall  send  five  thousand  denarii  to  your 
palace." 

"Well  given,  noble  youth!  It  is  gener- 
ous. I  like  it  in  you.  Say  that  I  may  have 
you  to  feast  with  me  the  first  day  before  the 
ides — both  of  you.  Say  that  I  may  have 
you." 

"We  humbly  wait  your  commands," 
said  Vergilius,  kissing  his  hand. 

"Now  tell  me,  handsome  son  of  Varro, 
have  you  found  no  pretty  girl  to  your  lik- 
ing? Know  you  not,  boy,  'tis  time  you 
married?"  He  held  the  hand  of  the  young 
knight  and  spoke  kindly,  his  cunning  eyes 
34 


aglow,  and  smiled  upon  him,  showing  his 
teeth,  set  well  apart. 

"Such  an  one  I  have  found,  good  sire. 
Under  the  great  purple  dome  there  is  none 
more  beautiful,  and  with  your  favor  and 
that  of  the  gods  I  hope  to  make  her  my 
wife." 

"Ah,  then,  I  know  her?" 
"It  is  Arria,  sister  of  Appius." 
"And  daughter  of  my  beloved  praefect. 
You  are  ambitious,  my  good  youth." 

The  emperor  stood  a  moment,  looking 
downward  thoughtfully.  He  felt  his  re- 
treating chin.  His  smooth  -  shaven  face, 
broad  from  bone  to  bone  above  the  cheeks, 
quickly  grew  stern.  His  mind,  which  had 
the  world  for  its  toy  and  which  planned  the 
building  or  the  treading  down  of  empires, 
had  turned  its  thought  upon  that  little 
kingdom  in  the  heart  of  the  boy.  And  he 
was  thinking  whether  it  should  stand  or  fall. 
"  It  may  be  impossible,"  said  he,  turning 
to  the  young  man.  "Say  no  more  to  her 
until — until  I  have  thought  of  it." 
35 


And  Appius  observed,  as  he  went  away 
with  his  friend:  "You  will  be  a  statesman, 
my  dear  Vergilius ;  you  gave  him  just  the 
right  dose  of  religion,  flattery,  and  silver." 

"  I  must  succeed  or  I  shall  have  no  heart 
to  live,"  said  the  other,  soberly. 


I  mi    inr   mi   ini    IK   llg   mi    IK    rai    JKI    m    i.°»-  J«i    iig    mi    nil    IK   j-t    1<1 


[HAT  evening  Vergilius  went 
to  feast  with  the  young 
Herodian  prince,  Antipater 
ofjudea.  The  son  of  Herod 
was  then  a  tall,  swarthy,  ro- 
bust young  man,  who  had 
come  to  see  life  in  Rome 
and  to  finish  his  education.  He  would  in- 
herit the  crown — so  said  they  who  knew 
anything  of  Herodian  politics;  but  he  was 
a  Jew,  and  deep  in  the  red  intrigue  of  his 
father's  house.  So,  therefore,  he  was  regard- 
ed in  Rome  with  more  curiosity  than  respect. 
Augustus  himself  had  said  that  he  would 
rather  be  the  swine  of  Herod  than  Her- 
od's son,  and  he  might  have  added  that 
37 


he  would  rather  be  the  swine  of  Antipater 
than  his  father.  But  that  was  before  Au- 
gustus had  learned  that  even  his  own 
household  was  unworthy  of  full  confidence. 

Antipater  had  brought  many  slaves  to 
Rome,  and  some  of  the  noblest  horses  in  the 
empire.  He  had  hired  a  palace  and  built 
a  lion-house,  where,  before  intimates,  he 
was  wont  to  display  his  courage  and  his 
skill.  It  had  a  small  arena  and  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  garden.  There  he  kept  a 
lion  from  northern  Africa,  a  tiger,  and  a 
black  leopard  from  the  Himalayas.  He  was 
training  for  the  Herodian  prize  at  the 
Jewish  amphitheatre  in  Caesarea.  These 
great,  stealthy  cats  in  his  garden  typified  the 
passions  of  his  heart.  If  he  had  only  fought 
these  latter  as  he  fought  the  beasts  he  might 
have  had  a  better  place  in  history. 

Antipater  had  conceived  a  great  liking 
for  the  sister  of  Appius.  Her  beauty  had 
roused  in  him  the  great  cats  of  passion 
now  stalking  their  prey.  He  had  sworn  to 
his  intimates  that  no  other  man  should 
38 


marry  her.  His  gallantry  was  unwelcome, 
he  knew  that,  and  Appius  had  assured  him 
that  a  marriage  was  impossible;  but 'the 
wild  heart  of  the  Idumean  held  to  its  pur- 
pose. And  now  its  hidden  eyes  were  gaz- 
ing, catlike,  on  Vergilius,  the  cause  of  its 
difficulty.  In  Judea  he  would  have  known 
how  to  act,  but  in  Rome  he  pondered. 

It  had  been  a  stormy  day  in  the  palace  of 
Antipater.  He  had  crucified  a  slave  for 
disobedience  and  run  a  lance  through  one 
of  his  best  horses  for  no  reason.  He  came 
out  of  his  bath  a  little  before  the  hour  of 
his  banquet,  and  two  slaves,  trembling 
with  fear,  followed  him  to  his  chamber. 
They  put  his  tunic  on  him,  and  his 
sandals,  and  wound  the  fillets  that  held 
them  in  place.  One  of  the  slaves  began 
brushing  the  dark  hair  of  his  master  while 
the  other  was  rubbing  a  precious  ointment 
on  his  face  and  arms. 

"Fool!"  he  shouted.  "Have  I  not  told 
you  never  to  bear  upon  my  head  ?" 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  black  eyes  flash- 
39 


ing  under  heavy  brows,  and,  seizing  a  lance, 
broke  the  slave's  arm  with  a  blow  and 
drove  him  out  of  the  chamber.  A  few 
minutes  later,  in  a  robe  of  white  silk  and  a 
yellow  girdle,  he  came  into  his  banquet- 
hall  with  politeness,  dovelike,  worshipful, 
and  caressing. 

"Noble  son  of  Varro!"  said  he,  smiling 
graciously,  "it  is  a  joy  to  see  you.  And 
you,  brave  Gracus;  and  you,  Aulus,  child 
of  Destiny;  and  you,  my  learned  Manius; 
and  you,  Cams,  favored  of  the  Muses:  I  do 
thank  you  all  for  this  honor." 

It  was  a  brilliant  company — gay  youths 
all,  who  could  tell  the  new  stories  and  loved 
to  sit  late  with  their  wine.  As  they  wait- 
ed for  dinner  many  tempting  dishes  were 
passed  among  them.  There  were  oysters, 
mussels,  spondyli,  fieldfares  with  aspara- 
gus, roe-ribs,  sea-nettles,  and  purple  shell- 
fish. When  they  came  to  their  couches, 
the  dinner-table  was  covered  with  rare  and 
costly  things.  On  platters  of  silver  and 
gold  one  might  have  seen  tunny  fishes  from 
40 


Chalcedon,  muraenas  from  the  Straits  of 
Gades,  peacock^  from  Samos,  grouse  from 
Phrygia,  cranes  from  Melos.  Slaves  were 
kept  busy  bringing  boar's  head  and  sow's 
udder  and  roasted  fowls,  and  fish  pasties, 
and  boiled  teals.  Other  slaves  kept  the 
goblets  full  of  old  wine.  Soon  the  banquet 
had  become  a  revel  of  song  and  laughter. 
Suddenly  Antipater  raised  a  calix  high 
above  his  head. 

"My  noble  friends,"  he  shouted,  "I  bid 
you  drink  with  me  to  Arria,  sister  of  Ap- 
pius,  and  fairest  daughter  of  Rome — " 

Vergilius  had  quickly  risen  to  his  feet. 
"Son  of  Herod,"  said  he,  with  dignity,  "I 
am  in  your  palace  and  have  tasted  of 
your  meat,  and  am  therefore  sacred.  You 
make  your  wine  bitter  when  you  mingle 
it  with  the  name  of  one  so  pure.  Good 
women  were  better  forgotten  at  a  midnight 
revel." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"My  intention  was  pure  as  she,"  Antip- 
ater answered,  craftily.  "  Be  not  so  jealous, 
4  41 


my  noble  friend.  I  esteem  her  as  the  best 
and  loveliest  of  women." 

"Nay,  not  the  loveliest,"  said  the  young 
Manius,  an  assessor  in  Judea.  "  I  sing  the 
praise  of  Salome,  sister  of  our  noble  prince. 
Of  all  the  forms  in  flesh  and  marble  none 
compare  with  this  beautiful  daughter  of 
the  great  king." 

"  May  fairest  women  be  for  the  best  men," 
said  Antipater,  drinking  his  wine. 

In  a  dim  light  along  the  farther  side  of 
the  dining-hall  was  a  row  of  figures,  some 
draped,  some  nude,  and  all  having  the  look 
of  old  marble.  Two  lay  in  voluptuous  at- 
titudes, one  sat  on  a  bank  of  flowers,  and 
others  stood  upon  pedestals. 

There  were  all  the  varying  forms  of  Venus 
represented  in  living  flesh.  None,  save 
Antipater  and  the  slaves  around  him,  knew 
that  under  each  bosom  was  a  fearful  and 
palpitating  heart.  They  were  beautiful 
slave -girls  captured  on  the  frontiers  of 
Judea.  In  spite  of  aching  sinew  and 
muscle,  they  had  to  stand  like  stone  to 
42 


escape  the  observation  of  evil  eyes.  There 
was  a  cruelty  behind  that  stony  stillness  of 
the  maidens,  equal,  it  would  seem,  to  the 
worst  in  Hades. 

Slaves  kept  the  wine  foaming  in  every 
goblet,  and  fought  and  danced  and  wrestled 
for  the  pleasing  of  that  merry  company, 
and  the  hours  wore  away.  Suddenly  the 
sound  of  a  lyre  hushed  the  revels.  All 
heard  the  voice  of  a  maiden  singing,  and 
turned  to  see  whence  it  came.  A  sweet 
voice  it  was,  trembling  in  tones  that  told  of 
ancient  wrong,  in  words  full  of  a  new  hope. 
Had  life  and  song  come  to  one  of  those 
white  marbles  yonder?  Voice  and  word 
touched  the  heart  of  Vergilius — -he  knew 
not  why ;  and  this  in  part  is  the  chant  that 
stopped  the  revels  of  Antipater: 


"  Lift  up  my  soul ;  let  me  not  be  ashamed — I  trust 

in  Thee,  God  of  my  fathers; 
Send,  quickly  send,  the  new  king  whose  arrows 

shall  fly  as  the  lightning, 
Making  the  mighty  afraid  and  the  proud  to  bow 

low  and  the  wicked  to  tremble. 

43 


Soon  let  me  hear  the  great  song  that  shall  sound 

in  the  deep  of  the  heavens; 
Show  me  the  lantern  of  light  hanging  low  in 

the  deep  of  the  heavens." 

The  voice  of  the  singer  grew  faint  and 
the  lyre  dropped  from  her  hands.  They 
could  see  her  reeling,  and  suddenly  she  fell 
headlong  to  the  rug  beneath  her  pedestal. 
Antipater  rose  quickly  with  angry  eyes. 

"The  accursed  girl!"  said  he.  "A  Gal- 
ilean slave  of  my  father.  She  is  forever 
chanting  of  a  new  king." 

Hot  with  anger  and  flushed  with  wine, 
he  ran,  cursing,  and  kicked  the  shapely  form 
that  lay  fainting  at  the  foot  of  its  pedestal. 

"Fool!"  he  shouted.  "Know  you  not 
that  I  only  am  your  king  ?  You  shall  be 
punished;  you  shall  enter  the  cage  of  the 
leopard." 

He  went  no  further.  Vergilius  had  rush- 
ed upon  him  and  flung  him  to  the  floor. 
Antipater  rose  quickly  and  approached  the 
young  Roman,  a  devil  in  his  eyes.  Vergilius 
had  a  look  of  wonder  and  self-reproach. 
44 


"What  have  I  done?"  said  he,  facing  the 
Jew.  "Son  of  Herod,  forgive  me.  She  is 
your  slave,  and  I — I  am  no  longer  master  of 
myself.  I  doubt  not  some  strange  god  is 
working  in  me,  for  I  seem  to  be  weak- 
hearted  and  cannot  bear  to  see  you  kick 
her." 

The  declaration  was  greeted  with  loud 
laughter.  Antipater  stood  muttering  as  he 
shook  the  skirt  of  his  toga. 

' '  '  Tis  odd ,  my  good  fellows , ' '  said  Vergilius , 
"  but  the  other  day  I  saw  a  man  scourging 
his  lady's-maid.  Mother  of  the  gods!  I  felt 
as  if  the  blows  were  falling  on  my  own  back, 
and  out  went  my  hand  upon  his  arm  and  I 
begged  him  —  I  begged  him  to  spare  the 
girl." 

All  laughed  again. 

"  You  should  have  a  doll  and  long  hair," 
said  Antipater,  in  a  tone  of  contempt. 

The  proud  son  of  Varro  stood  waiting  as 
the  others  laughed,  his  brows  and  chin  lift- 
ing a  bit  with  anger.     When  silence  came 
he  spoke  slowly,  looking  from  face  to  face : 
45 


"  If  any  here  dare  to  question  my  courage, 
within  a  moment  it  shall  be  proved  upon 
him." 

None  spoke  or  moved  for  a  breath. 
Antipater  answered;  presently: 

"  I  doubt  not  your  courage,  noble  Ver- 
gilius,  but  if  you  will  have  it  tried  I  can 
show  you  a  better  way,  and  one  that  will 
spare  your  friends.  Come,  all  of  you." 

As  they  were  rising,  the  young  Gracus 
remarked:  "By  Apollo!  I  have  not  taken 
my  emetic." 

"To  forget  that  is  to  know  sorrow,"  said 
another. 

Slaves  brought  their  outer  robes  and 
they  followed  the  young  prince.  He  led 
them,  between  vines  and  fruit  trees  and  beds 
of  martagon  and  mirasolus,  to  the  lion-house 
in  his  garden.  Vergilius  now  understood 
the  test  of  courage  to  be  put  upon  him. 
The  great  beasts  were  asleep  in  their  cages, 
and  Antipater  prodded  them  with  a  lance. 
A  thunder  in  their  throats  seemed  to  fill 
the  air  and  shake  the  flames  in  the  lampa- 
46 


daria.  With  sword  and  lance  Antipater 
entered  the  arena,  a  space  barred  high, 
about  thirty  feet  square,  upon  which  all  the 
cages  opened. 

"The  tiger!"  he  commanded. 

Keepers  lifted  a  metal  gate,  and  the  huge 
cat  leaped  away  from  their  lances,  backed 
snarling  to  the  end  of  his  cage,  and  with  a 
slow,  creeping  movement  put  his  head  and 
fore-paws  into  the  arena ;  then  a  swift  step  or 
two,  a  lowering  of  the  great  head,  and  side- 
long he  stood,  with  eyes  aglow  and  fangs 
uncovered,  a  low  mutter  in  his  mouth,  like 
the  roar  of  a  mighty  harp  -  string.  Some 
fifteen  feet  away  stood  the  son  of  Herod, 
his  lance  poised. 

"  Never  strike  while  your  beast  has  a 
foot  to  the  ground,"  said  he,  keeping  his 
gaze  on  the  face  of  the  tiger.  "He  will 
be  quick  to  move  and  parry.  Wait  until 
he  is  in  the  air,  and  then  thrust  your 
lance." 

He  made  a  feint  with  his  weapon;  the 
tiger  darted  half  his  length  aside,  with  a 
47 


great,  bursting  roar,  and,  crouching  low, 
stealthily  felt  the  ground  beneath  him. 

"Watch  him  now,"  said  the  tall  Antip- 
ater.  "  He  will  leap  soon." 

Again  he  drove  him  forward,  and  then 
the  beast  turned,  facing  his  tormentor,  and 
crouched  low.  There,  in  a  huge  setting  of 
bone  and  muscle  strangely  fitted  to  its 
fierceness,  with  eyes  of  fire  and  feet  of 
deadly  stealth,  its  back  arched  like  a  drawn 
bow,  the  wild  heart  of  the  son  of  Herod 
seemed  to  be  facing  him. 

"  Look!"  a  slave  shouted.  "  He  has  bent 
his  bow." 

The  haired  lip  of  the  beast  quivered; 
great  cords  of  muscle  were  drawn  tense. 
Like  a  flash  the  bow  sprang  and  the  col- 
umns of  bone  beneath  him  lifted,  flinging 
his  long,  striped  body  in  the  air.  With  cat- 
like swiftness  Antipater  stepped  aside,  and 
while  the  huge  beast  was  in  mid-air,  thrust 
the  lance  into  his  heart.  He  bore  with  all 
his  strength  and  rushed  away,  seizing  another 
weapon .  The  big  cat  fell  and  rose  and  struck 
48 


at  the  clinging  lance,  and  stood  a  second 
flooding  the  floor  with  blood .  Then  down  he 
went  shuddering  to  his  death.  The  young 
men  shouted  loud  their  applause  in  honor 
of  Herod's  son.  While  the  beast  was  dying 
slaves  came  and  sanded  the  floor.  Then, 
presently,  they  swept  up  the  red  sand,  and 
tying  a  rope  to  the  legs  of  the  limp  tiger, 
dragged  him  away.  They  had  done  this 
kind  of  work  before,  and  each  knew  his 
part.  Presently  Antipater  called  two  of 
them. 

"  Bring  that  girl  Cyran — she  that  chants 
of  her  new  king,"  said  he,  as  they  ran  to  do 
his  bidding. 

"  Noble  prince,  the  strange  god  is  again 
at  work  in  me,"  said  Vergilius,  with  rising 
ire.  "  I  could  not  bear  to  see  you  put  her 
with  the  leopard ;  I  should  rather  face  him 
myself." 

"You!"  said  the  other,  tauntingly,  and 

with  a  shrewd  purpose.     The  youths  turned 

to  see  if  Vergilius  would  really  accept  the 

challenge.     No  man  had  ever  faced  a  black 

49 


Hergtltua 

leopard  at  close  quarters  without  suffering 
death  or  injury. 

"I,"  said  Vergilius,  promptly.  "If  it 
is  amusement  you  desire,  I  can  supply 
it  as  well  as  she.  Surely  I  have  more 
blood  in  me.  If  you  wish  only  to  feed 
the  leopard  —  will  I  not  make  a  better 
feast?" 

A  sound  hushed  them.  It  was  the  slave- 
girl,  singing  as  she  came  near: 

"  Send,  quickly  send,  the  new  king  whose  arrows 

shall  fly  as  the  lightning, 
Making  the  mighty  afraid  and  the  proud  to  bow 

low  and  the  wicked  to  tremble. 
Soon  let  me  hear  the  great  song  that  shall  sound 

in  the  deep  of  the  heavens; 
Show  me  the  lantern  of  light  hanging  low  in 

the  deep  of  the  heavens." 

She  was  fair  to  look  upon  as  she  came, 
led  by  the  carnifex,  her  form,  draped  in  soft, 
transparent  linen,  like  that  of  a  goddess  in 
its  outline,  her  face  lighted  even  with  that 
light  of  which  she  sang. 

"The  girl  against  a  hundred  denarii  that 


you  cannot  live  an  hour  in  the  arena  with 
him,"  said  Antipater,  hotly. 

"I  accept  the  wager,"  Vergilius  calmly 
answered,  laying  off  his  robe  and  seizing 
a  lance.  He  entered  the  arena  and  closed 
its  gate  behind  him.  "Drive  the  beast  in 
upon  me,  son  of  Herod;  and  you,  Gracus, 
be  ready  to  hand  me  another  lance." 

The  black  leopard  spat  fiercely  and  struck 
at  the  points  that  were  put  upon  it,  the 
deep  rumble  in  its  throat  swelling  into 
loud  crescendos.  Of  a  sudden  it  bounded 
through  the  gateway  and  stood  a  moment, 
baring  great  fangs.  The  animal  threatened 
with  long  hisses.  Vergilius  ^  held  its  eye, 
his  lance  raised.  The  hissing  ceased,  the 
growl  diminished,  the  stealthy  paws  moved 
slowly.  Soon  it  rolled  upon  its  side, 
purring,  and  seemed  to  caress  the  floor 
with  head  and  paws  —  a  trick  to  divert 
the  gaze  of  Vergilius.  The  Satanic  eyes 
were  ever  on  its  foe.  As  the  beast  lay 
there,  twisting  and  turning,  the  black  fur 
seemed  to  wrap  it  in  the  gloom  of  Tar- 


tarus,  and  the  fire  of  the  burning  lake  to 
shine  through  its  eyes.  While  Vergilius 
stood  motionless  and  alert,  a  slave  hurried- 
ly entered  the  lion-house  and  spoke  to  An- 
tipater. 

"The  imperator!"  whispered  the  slave. 
"  He  cannot  wait ;  he  must  see  you  quickly." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  palace  hall." 

Antipater  hurried  away. 

The  slave-girl  went  close  to  the  barred 
arena. 

"Young  master,"  said  she,  in  quick  and 
eager  words,  "  the  lamps  are  burning  dim- 
mer. They  will  go  out  soon.  It  is  a  trick. 
You  will  not  be  able  to  see  and  the  leopard 
will  rend  you." 

Antipater  ran  to  the  banquet-hall  of  his 
palace,  where  sat  the  emperor,  his  chin  rest- 
ing thoughtfully  on  his  hand.  The  great 
Augustus  did  not  look  up  nor  even  change 
his  attitude  as  the  son  of  Herod  came  near 
and  bowed  low  and  called  him  father. 

"I  have  a  plan,"  said  the  emperor. 
52 


thoughtfully,  " — a  pretty  plan,  my  young 
prince  of — of — " 

"  Judea?"  suggested  the  young  prince. 

"Oh,  well,  it  matters  not,"  the  great 
father  went  on.  "You  know  that  fair 
Vergilius,  son  of  Varro?  A  headstrong, 
foolish  youth  he  is,  and  I  fear  much  that 
he  is  like  to  die  shortly.  What  think 
you?" 

The  piercing  eyes  of  Augustus  were  look- 
ing into  those  of  the  young  man. 

"  My  great  father,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  do 
not  know." 

"  Tis  gross  ignorance  and  unworthy  of 
you,"  said  Augustus,  quickly,  as  he  rose. 
"Well,  I  have  bethought  me  of  a  pretty 
plan.  Your  funeral  and  his  shall  occur  on 
the  same  day  —  a  fine,  great,  amusing  fu- 
neral," he  added,  thoughtfully.  "It  shall 
be  so.  Do  not  worry,  I  shall  see  you  well 
buried.  Ah,  you  are  most  impolite.  Why 
do  you  not  ask  me  to  drink  your  health? 
My  pretty  prince,  you  look  most  ill  and 
have  need  of  my  good  wishes." 
53 


"Dominus!"  said  the  other,  trembling 
with  anxiety. 

"Dominus!"  the  old  emperor  shouted, 
angrily.  "Call  me  ass,  if  you  dare,  but 
never  call  me  '  Dominus." 

"You  honor  me,  great  father,"  said  the 
young  man,  his  eyes  staring  with  terror, 
"but  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me  for  a  little 
time." 

"Ah,  so  you  would  leave  me,"  said  the 
sly  emperor,  in  his  mildest  tones.  "A 
most  inhospitable  wretch,  indeed." 

The  tall  Jew  was  now  pale  with  fright. 
His  feeling  showed  in  great  beads  of  per- 
spiration. He  dared  not  to  stay;  he  dared 
not  to  go.  He  was  in  a  worse  plight  than 
Vergilius,  now  standing  in  the  leopard's 
cage. 

"A  most  inhospitable  prince,"  the  bland 
emperor  repeated,  smiling  with  amusement. 
"You  are  in  a  hurry?" 

"I  am  ill." 

The  emperor  stood  smiling  as  Antipater 
glided  away. 

54 


"Run,  you  knave!"  said  the  former  to 
himself,  with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction. 
"  Upon  my  soul !  the  Jew  has  already  set 
his  snare." 

Then  the  gentle  and  cunning  man,  Gaius 
Julius  Caesar  Octavianus  Augustus,  made 
his  way  to  the  entrance  where  lecticarii  were 
waiting  with  his  litter. 

"Can  you  hear  the  sound  of  running 
feet?"  he  inquired  of  the  lady  who  sat  be- 
side him  as  they  went  away. 

"Yes.     What  means  it?" 

He  turned  with  a  smile  and  a  move- 
ment of  his  hand.  Then  he  answered 
calmly  : 

"  Death  is  chasing  a  man  through  the 
garden  yonder." 

While  Antipater  was  running  towards  the 
lion-house,  that  small  tragedy  of  the  arena 
was  near  its  end. 

The  lights  are  burning  low.  Two  have 
flickered  for  a  little  and  gone  out.  The 
young  men  are  watching  with  eager  eyes. 

"  I  can  bear  it  no  longer,"  says  one,  rush- 
55 


ing  to  the  gate  of  the  arena,  only  to  find 
that  he  could  not  open  it. 

The  slave -girl  utters  a  cry  and  steps 
forward  and  is  caught  and  held  by  the 
earn  if  ex. 

Vergilius  urges  the  leopard.  He  steps 
quickly,  feinting  with  his  lance;  the  cat 
darts  along  the  farther  side  of  the  arena, 
roaring.  Its  eyes  glow  fiery  in  the  dusk. 
The  beast  is  become  furious  with  continued 
baiting.  Half  the  lamps  are  out  and  the 
light  rapidly  failing  as  Antipater  rushes 
through  the  door.  He  falls  beside  the  arena, 
rises  and  opens  the  gate. 

"A  lance,"  he  whispers,  and  it  is  quickly 
put  in  his  hands.  "  Come,  come  quickly,  son 
of  Varro,"  he  whispers  again.  "The  light 
is  failing.  He  will  tear  you  into  shreds. 
Come  through  the  gate  here." 

Vergilius  had  stopped,  facing  the  leopard 
with  lance  raised. 

"Not  unless  I  have  the  wager,"  says  he, 
calmly. 

"You  have  won  it,"  Antipater  answers. 
56 


"Come,  good  friend,  be   quick,    I   beg  of 
you!" 

Both  moved  backward  through  the  gate, 
and  before  it  closed  there  came  a  fling 
of  claws  on  the  floor.  A  black  ball,  bound 
hard  with  tightened  sinew,  rose  in  the  air 
and  shot  across  the  arena  and  shook  the 
gate  which  had  closed  in  time  to  stop  it. 

"  You  are  living,  son  of  Varro,  and  I  thank 
the  God  of  my  fathers,"  Antipater  shouted, 
as  he  flung  himself  on  a  big  divan,  his 
breath  coming  fast.  "I  forgot  the  lights. 
I  thought  of  them  suddenly,  and  ran  to 
save  you.  If  I  had  been  running  in  the 
games  I  should  have  won  the  laurel  of 
Caesar." 

"  I  was  wrong — he  could  not  have  meant 
to  slay  me,"  thought  Vergilius.  "Not  by 
the  paws  of  the  leopard." 

Cyran  stood  near  the  door,  weeping.  An- 
tipater rose  and  led  her  to  Vergilius. 

"The  girl  is  yours,"  said  he.  "I  am 
glad  to  be  done  with  her.  Come,  all." 

They  followed  him  to  the  palace,   and 
5  57 


Vergilius  bade  the  girl  dress  and  be  ready  to 
join  his  pedisequi  in  the  outer  hall.  She 
knelt  before  him  and  kissed  the  border  of 
his  tunic. 

"Oh,  my  young  master!"  said  she,  "I 
shall  be  of  those  who  part  the  briers  in 
your  way."  Then  she  hurried  to  obey  him. 

"I  would  speak  with  you,  noble  son  of 
Varro,"  said  Antipater,  beckoning. 

Vergilius  followed  to  the  deep  atrium  of 
the  palace,  where  they  stood  alone. 

"  You  have  one  thing  I  desire,  and  I  will 
pay  you  five  thousand  aurei  to  relinquish 
it — five  thousand  aurei,"  the  Jew  whis- 
pered. 

"And  what  is  it  you  would  buy  of  me, 
noble  prince?" 

"A  mere  plaything!  A  bouquet  that 
will  fade  shortly  and  be  flung  aside.  The 
thing  happens  to  suit  my  fancy,  and — and  I 
can  afford  it." 

In  the  moment  of  silence  that  followed 
this  remark  a  stem  look  of  inquiry  came 
into  the  face  of  Vergilius. 
58 


"  Man,  do  you  not  know  ?  'Tis  the  sister 
of  Appius,"  Antipater  added,  lightly. 

"Cur  of  Judea!"  hissed  the  knight,  his 
sword  flashing  out  of  its  scabbard,  "  I  shall 
cut  you  down  and  fling  you  out  to  the 
dogs.  Fight  here  and  now.  I  demand 
it!" 

The  young  Roman  spoke  loudly  and  stood 
waiting.  Those  others  had  heard  the  chal- 
lenge and  were  now  coming  near.  Antip- 
ater stood  silent,  glaring,  as  had  the  leop- 
ard, with  an  evil  leer  at  his  foe,  and  think- 
ing no  doubt  of  the  warning  of  Augustus. 
The  stiff,  straight  hairs  in  his  mustache 
quivered  as  he  turned  slowly,  watchfully, 
towards  the  others,  who  were  now  standing 
near.  Since  his  funeral  should  occur  on 
the  same  day,  how  could  he  fight  with 
Vergilius  ? 

"You  dare  not,"  the  latter  added,  fierce- 
ly;" and  before  these  men  I  denounce  you  as 
a  coward — a  coward  who  fears  to  raise  a 
hand." 

His  arm  was  extended,  his  finger  at  the 
59 


face  of  the  Jew,  now  white  with  passion. 
Half  a  moment  passed  in  which  there  was 
no  word. 

"You  living  carrion!"  said  the  young 
knight,  turning  and  walking  away.  "  I  am 
done  with  you." 

He  took  the  hand  of  the  poor  slave 
Cyran,  and  walked  to  the  farther  side  of 
the  atrium.  He  turned,  still  white  with 
anger  as  if  unsatisfied. 

"Pet  of  harlots!"  said  he,  fiercely.  "It 
is  time  for  some  one  to  stand  for  the  honor 
of  good  women.  If  you  do  but  speak  her 
name  again  before  me  I  will  run  you 
through." 

Receiving  no  answer,  he  departed  with 
Cyran,  while  the  others  gathered  about 
their  host. 

There  was  a  heavy  rumble  in  the  throat 
of  Antipater — a  tiger-like,  Herodian  trait — 
and  then  a  volley  of  oaths  came  out  of  it. 
He  trembled  with  rage  and  flung  his  sword 
far  across  the  dim  atrium  with  a  shout  of 
anger.  Like  the  great  cats  in  his  rage,  he 
60 


was  like  them  also  in  his  methods  of  attack 
—sly  and  terrible,  but  with  a  deep  regard 
for  the  integrity  of  his  own  skin.  Sure  of 
his  advantage,  he  could  be  as  brave  as 
when  he  faced  the  tiger. 

He  sat  awhile  muttering,  his  face  between 
his  hands.  Soon,  having  calmed  his  passion, 
he  rose  and  snarled:  "Good  sirs,  never 
quarrel  with  the  pet  of  an  emperor,  for  if 
one  spares  you  the  other  will  not." 


RRIA  and  her  mother  sat 
with  the  emperor.     He  was 
at  home  and  in  a  playful 
humor.  The  hour  of  his  ban- 
quet was  approaching.  Soon 
he  would  be  summoned  to 
receive  his  guests. 
"  Nay,  but  I  am  sure  he  loves  me,"  the 
girl  was  saying. 

The  cunning  emperor  smiled  and  spoke 
very  gently.     "Think  you  so,  dear  child? 
I  will  put  him  to  the  test.     Soon  we  shall 
know  if  he  be  worthy  of  so  great  a  prize. 
I  will  try  both  his  wit  and  his  devotion,  but 
you — you  cannot  be  here." 
"And  why,  great  father?" 
62 


"Think  you  it  could  be  a  test  with  your 
eye  upon  him?" 

"Oh,  but  I  must  see  it,"  said  the  girl. 
"  Unless  I  see  it  I  shall  not  know.  Let  me 
be  your  slave  and  stand  behind  you  in 
gray  cloth.  Beloved  father,  I  implore  you, 
let  me  see  the  test." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  the  emperor,  rising,  with 
a  smile.  "I  shall  know  nothing  but  that 
you  have  gone  above-stairs  to  find  Clia, 
mistress  of  the  robes.  Tell  her  to  give  you 
a  box  of  tablets,  and  when  I  raise  my 
finger  —  so  —  they  are  to  be  delivered. 
Away  with  you." 

Arria  left  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and  present- 
ly Augustus  went  with  the  Lady  Lucia  to 
meet  his  guests. 

The  "commands"  of  the  emperor  had 
given  the  hour  of  the  banquet  and  pre- 
scribed the  dress  to  be  worn.  Vergilius 
had  waited  anxiously  for  the  moment  when 
he  should  again  see  the  great  god  of  Rome, 
who  could  give  or  take  away  as  he  would. 
Standing  at  the  door  of  Caesar,  he  wondered 

63 


whether  he  were  nearing  the  end  of  all  pleas- 
ure or  the  gate  of  paradise.  A  plate  of  pol- 
ished brass  hung  on  its  lintel,  bearing  in  large 
letters  the  word  Salve.  A  slave  opened  the 
door  and  took  his  pallium.  Julia,  that  way- 
ward daughter  of  Augustus,  now  three  times 
married  but  yet  beautiful,  met  him  in  the 
inner  hall,  and  together  they  walked  to  the 
banquet-room.  There  the  emperor,  limping 
slightly,  came  to  meet  Vergilius,  and  there, 
also,  were  the  guests,  seven  in  number: 
Appius  and  his  mother,  the  Lady  Lucia; 
Terentia,  wife  of  the  late  Maecenas ;  Manius, 
an  assessor  in  Judea ;  Hortensius,  legate  of 
Spain;  Antipater,  son  of  Herod  the  Great; 
and  Aulus  Valerius  Maro,  the  senator. 

"  It  enters  my  thought  to  say  to  you,"  said 
the  emperor,  aside,  as  he  put  his  hand  upon 
the  shoulder  of  Vergilius,  "keep  the  num- 
ber one  in  your  mind,  so  that  by-and-by 
you  can  tell  me  what  you  make  of  it." 

Slaves  had  covered  the  table  with  fish 
and  fowl  in  dishes  of  unwrought  silver. 
The  guests  reclined  upon  three  great  divans 
64 


set  around  as  many  sides  of  the  table. 
They  ate  resting  on  their  elbows,  and  were 
so  disposed  that  each  could  see  the  host 
without  turning.  The  emperor  asked  only 
for  coarse  bread,  a  morsel  of  fish,  two 
figs,  and  a  bit  of  cheese. 

"My  good  friends,"  said  he,  in  a  low 
voice,- when  the  wine  was  served,  "we  have 
with  us  an  able  officer  in  this  young  Manius, 
one  of  our  assessors  in  Jerusalem.  I  ask 
you  to  drink  his  health.  Though  I  can 
drink  no  wine,  I  can  feel  good  sentiments." 

One  could  not  help  remarking  his  fixed 
serenity  of  face  and  voice  and  manner  as  he 
went  on: 

"Some  time  ago  it  came  to  my  ear  that 
he  thought  me  a  tyrant  wallowing  in  vulgar 
and  ill-gotten  luxury." 

There  was  a  little  stir  in  those  heads 
around  the  table,  and  in  every  hand  and 
face  one  might  have  seen  evidence  of  quick- 
ened pulses.  The  young  officer  was  now 
staring  through  deathly  pallor. 

"My  friends,  it  is  not  strange,"  said  the 
65 


great  Augustus,  mildly.  "To  Jerusalem 
is  quite  two  thousand  miles;  and,  then, 
he  was  very  young  when  he  left  the 
home  of  his  fathers.  Am  I  not  right, 
Manius?" 

"Your  words  are  both  true  and  kindly," 
said  the  young  man. 

"And  you  are  discerning,"  said  the  em- 
peror, with  a  smile.  "  Now,  good  people,  ob- 
serve that  I  have  invited  our  young  officer 
to  Rome  for  two  purposes:  to  show  him, 
first,  that  I  live  no  better  than  the  poorest 
nobleman;  secondly,  that  I  am  only  a  ser- 
vant of  the  people ;  for,  since  he  is  an  able 
officer,  I  shall  resist  my  own  will  and  keep 
him  in  the  public  service." 

"  Bravo!"  said  they  all,  and  clapped  their 
hands. 

A  strange,  inscrutable  man  was  the  em- 
peror at  that  moment,  the  mildness  of  a 
lamb  in  his  voice  and  manner,  the  gleam 
of  a  serpent's  eye  under  his  brows.  And 
that  right  hand  of  his,  clinched  now  and 
quivering  a  little,  had  it  grasped  a  reach- 
66 


ing,  invisible  serpent  within  him  ?  Kindly  ? 
Yes,  but  with  the  kindness  of  a  deep  and 
subtle  character  who  saw  in  forbearance  the 
best  politics  and  the  most  effective  disci- 
pline. Lights  were  now  aglow  in  a  great 
candelabrum  over  the  table  and  in  many 
tall  lampadaria. 

A  slave,  who  was  a  juggler,  came  near 
and  began  to  fill  the  gloom  above  him 
with  golden  disks.  From  afar  came  the 
music  of  flutes  and  timbrels.  Julia  retired 
presently,  and  returned  soon  with  her  pet 
dwarf  Cenopas.  She  stood  him  on  a  large, 
round  table,  and  the  guests  greeted  him 
with  loud  laughter  as  he  looked  down. 
He  had  a  hard,  unlovely  face,  that  little 
dwarf.  He  suggested  to  Vergilius  unwel- 
come thoughts  of  a  new  sort  of  Cupid — de- 
formed, evil,  and  hideous  —  typifying  the 
degenerate  passions  of  Rome.  There  were 
in  the  quiver  of  this  Cupid  arrows  which 
carried  the  venom  of  the  asp.  Some  at  the 
table  mocked  his  grinning  face  and  made  a 
jest  of  his  deformity.  When  he  could  be 
67 


heard  he  mimicked  the  speech  and  manners 
of  public  men. 

"A  Cupid  with  a  knot  in  his  back,"  said 
one. 

"And  if  I  were  to  aim  an  arrow  at  you," 
said  the  dwarf,  quickly,  "I'm  sure  you'd 
have  a  pain  in  yours." 

"My  dear,"  said  the  gentle  -  mannered 
emperor,  when  the  laughter  had  died  away, 
"I  think  we  shall  now  give  him  the  crown 
of  folly  and  let  him  go." 

"Between  the  greatest  and  the  least  of 
Romans,"  said  his  daughter,  rising  and 
pointing  at  her  father  and  then  at  the  dwarf, 
"I  am  lost  in  mediocrity." 

A  slave  took  the  little  creature  in  his 
arms  and  bore  him  away  as  if  he  had  been 
a  pet  dog. 

"Tell  me,  young  men,"  said  the  em- 
peror, "have  you  no  lines  to  read  us — 
you  that  have  youth  and  beauty  and 
sweethearts?  How  ^is  it  with  you,  good 
Vergilius?" 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  "  No," 
68 


TlrrgUtua 

said  he;  "I  have  youth  and  a  sweetheart, 
but  not  the  gift  of  poesy." 

"No  lines!  What  are  we  coming  to  in 
this  Rome  of  ours?  Are  there  no  more 
poets?  My  dear  friends,  tell  me,  in  the 
baths  or  the  forum  or  the  theatre,  or  wher- 
ever the  people  congregate,  do  you  hear  of 
no  youth  that  has  the  divine  gift  of  song?" 

He  paused  for  a  little,  but  there  was  no 
reply. 

"Then  Rome  is  in  evil  days,"  said  the 
great  father,  sadly. 

"Why?"     It  was  the  question  of  Gracus. 

"Why,  young  man?  Because  in  every 
land  there  should  be  those  who  can  cherish 
the  fear  of  the  gods  and  make  honor  beau- 
tiful and  love  sacred  and  valor  a  thing  of 
imperishable  fame.  I  assure  you,  good  peo- 
ple, one  poet  is  better,"  he  paused,  thought- 
fully—  "than  ten  thousand  soldiers,"  he 
added.  "  Who  will  bring  me  a  poet  ?" 

The  gods  are  indeed  helpless,  thought 
Vergilius.  They  must  have  poets  to  do 
their  work  for  them  ?  But  he  said  nothing. 
69 


"The  streets  are  full  of  poets,"  said 
Gracus. 

"Those  old  men  with  long  beards  and 
stilted  rubbish!"  said  Augustus,  "with 
tragedies  that  slay  the  hero  and  the  hear- 
er! Bring  me  a  poet,  and,  remember,  I 
shall  honor  him  above  all  men.  Once  I 
invited  Horace  to  dine  with  me,  and  got  no 
answer.  He  was  a  proud  man" — this  with 
a  merry  smile.  "Again  I  invited  him,  and 
then  he  deigned  to  write  me  a  sentence, 
merely,  and  said : '  Thanks,  I  am  happy  out 
here  on  my  farm.'  I  did  not  know  what 
to  do,  but  I  wrote  a  letter  and  said  to 
the  great  man:  'You  may  not  desire  my 
friendship,  but  that  is  no  reason  for  my 
failing  to  value  yours.'  I  am  proud  to 
say  that  he  was  my  friend  ever  after.  But 
I  weary  you." 

A  female  slave,  thickly  veiled,  stood  be- 
hind him.  He  made  a  signal  and  she 
quickly  put  in  his  hand  a  little  box  of  ivory, 
finely  wrought. 

"I  have  here,"  said  the  great  father, 
70 


"  nine  disks  of  wax.  You  see  they  are  very- 
small,  but  so  they  shall  serve  my  purpose 
the  better.  Will  each  of  you  take  one  and 
retire  from  the  table  and  write  upon  it  the 
thing  he  most  desires?  Now,  my  dear 
friends,  brevity  is  ever  as  the  point  of  the 
lance.  Wit  is  blunt  and  Truth  half  armed 
without  it.  I  lay  a  test  upon  you." 

All  retired  quickly,  and,  soon  returning, 
dropped  their  wishes  in  the  box.  The  play- 
ful emperor  closed  and  shook  it  and  with- 
drew a  disk. 

"  I  find  here  the  word  '  preference, '  "  said 
he,  and  all  observed  that  his  keen  eyes  were 
calmly  measuring  the  prince  Antipater.  "  It 
is  a  poor  word,  and  does  you  little  honor,  my 
young  friend.  In  mere  preference  there  is 
no  merit.  Here  is  another,  and  it  says '  more 
wine.'  Keep  his  goblet  full,"  he  added, 
pointing  to  that  of  the  senator,  as  all 
laughed.  "Here  is  one  says  'rest.'  Have 
patience,  my  good  daughter,  I  shall  soon 
be  done  talking.  Another  has  on  it  the 
words  'your  health' — a  charming  compli- 


ment,  dear  Lady  Lucia.  'Courage,'  'wis- 
dom,' 'success,'"  he  added,  reading  from 
the  tablets.  "Naturally,  and  who,  indeed, 
does  not  desire  those  things  ?  Here  is  one 
that  says  'help' — a  great  word,  upon  my 
soul!  He  that  prays  for  help  and  not  for 
favor,  if  he  do  his  best,  may  have  many 
good  things — even '  courage,' '  wisdom,' '  suc- 
cess/ Keep  at  work  and  you  shall  have 
my  help,  Appius,  and,  I  doubt  not,  that  of 
the  gods  also.  Here  is  one — I  like  it  best 
of  all — it  is  that  of  the  modest  young  Ver- 
gilius.  He  would  have  a  priceless  thing. 
And  do  you,"  he  inquired,  turning  to  the 
young  knight,  "  desire  this  above  all  things  ? 
Think;  there  is  the  distinction  of  place  and 
power  and  honor  —  the  ring  of  a  legate 
would  become  you  well!" 

"  But,  above  all,"  said  Vergilius,  "  I  desire 
that  I  have  written." 

"Beautiful  boy!"  said  the  cunning  em- 
peror. 'Tis  so  great  a  prize,  give  me  an- 
other test  of  your  quality.  With  one  word 
you  ask  for  one  thing.  To  try  your  wit,  I 
72 


give  you  a  theme  so  small  it  is  next  to 
naught  —  the  number  one.  Tell  us,  and 
briefly  as  you  may,  what  is  in  it." 

The  young  man  rose  and  bowed  low. 
"One  is  in  all  numbers,"  said  he,  "and  un- 
less all  numbers  are  as  one  they  are  noth- 
ing. I  desire  one  mistress  for  my  heart,  one 
purpose  for  my  conduct,  and  one  great 
master  for  my  country." 

"The  gods  grant  them!"  said  Augustus, 
leading  the  applause. 

"And  now  I  shall  proclaim  the  word  he 
has  written.  It  is  'Arria,'  and  stands,  I 
know  well,  for  the  sister  of  Appius." 

He  turned  quickly  to  the  still  and  silent 
figure  of  the  slave  behind  him.  All  eyes 
were  now  watching  her. 

"Are  you  content?"  he  inquired. 

Gray  veil  and  robe  fell  away,  revealing 
the  beautiful  sister  of  Appius.  Vergilius 
went  quickly  to  her  side. 

"I  declare  them  for  each  other!"  said 
the  emperor,  as  all  rose  and  gathered 
around  the  two.  He  took  the  boy's  hand. 
6  73 


"Come    to   me   at    ten    to-morrow,"    he 
added. 

"But,  O  father  of  Rome!"  said  Arria, 
looking  up  at  the  great  man,  "how  long 
shall  you  detain  him?" 

"Give  me  half  an  hour,  you  love-sick 
maiden,"  said  Augustus.  "He  shall  be  at 
your  palace  in  good  time." 

"Come  at  the  middle  hour,"  said  the 
Lady  Lucia,  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  Ver- 
gilius. 

"The  gods  give  you  sleep,"  said  the 
great  father,  as  he  bade  them  good-night. 

Beneath  the  laurels  on  their  way  to  the 
gate,  Gracus,  who  rode  with  Antipater, 
said: 

"And  what  of  your  oath,  son  of  Her- 
od?" 

"But  they  are  not  yet  married,"  the 
other  answered,  malevolently.  "Vergilius! 
Bah!  He  is  the  son  of  a  praetor  and  I  am 
the  son  of  a  king.  Curse  the  old  fox! 
He  never  spoke  to  me  after  greetings, 
and  once  when  I  glanced  up  at  him  I 
74 


thought  his  keen  eyes  were  looking  through 
me." 

"Those    eyes!     Jupiter!"    said    Gracus, 
"they  drop  a  plummet  into  one." 


there  were  few  barriers 
between  the  emperor  and 
the  people.  He  went  to 
work  in  his  study  at  an  early 
hour  and  gave  a  patient 
hearing  to  any  but  foolish 
men.  This  morning  he  had 
been  reading  a  long  address  from  the  legate 
of  Syria.  He  had  a  way  of  dividing  his 
thought  between  reading  and  small  affairs 
of  the  state.  His  legate  recited  all  he  had 
been  able  to  learn  of  the  new  king  they  were 
now  expecting  in  Judea.  He  told  also  of  a 
plot  which  had  baffled  all  his  efforts  and 
which  aimed  to  take  the  life  of  Herod  and 
crown  the  king  of  prophecy  and  divine  power. 
76  ' 


"We  must  have  a  spy  of  noble  blood 
and  bearing,  of  unswerving  fidelity  and 
honor,  and  with  some  knowledge  of  the 
religion  of  Judea,"  said  the  legate.  "Of 
course,  you  will  not  be  able  to  find  him, 
for  where  in  all  the  world,  save  yourself, 
good  father,  is  there  such  a  man?" 

Augustus  dropped  the  sheet  of  vellum 
and  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully. 

"  How  about  this  young  Vergilius — the 
handsome,  clever,  woman-loving  Vergilius  ?" 
he  thought.  Then  for  a  moment  the  cun- 
ning emperor  laughed  silently. 

Ever  since  he  began  to  read  the  letter  he 
had  been  conversing  with  his  daughter 
Julia. 

"If  you  can  propose  a  better  candidate 
for  the  girl,  I — "  he  paused,  looking  intently 
at  the  letter — "I  shall  consider  him,"  he 
added,  presently. 

"She  is  beautiful,"  his  daughter  whis- 
pered. "I  know  one  who  will  give  to  the 
state  many  thousand  aurei." 

"  No  need  of  hurry.  The  young  Vergilius 
77 


will  give  what  is  better  than  money,  and 
then—" 

The  emperor  paused  again. 

"And  then?"  it  was  the  inquiry  of  Julia. 

"  He  will  forget  her  and  she  will  grow 
weary  and  yield.  There's  time  enough, 
and  time"  —he  took  a  little  mirror  from 
the  table  and  looked  down  upon  it— "can 
accomplish  many  things,"  he  added.  "It 
will  have  the  assistance  of  fame  and  honor 
and  new  faces.  Now  go,  I  beg  of  you,  and 
leave  me  to  my  work." 

A  delegation  of  Jews — petty  merchants  of 
the  Trastevere  —  were  leaving  as  Vergilius 
entered.  The  emperor,  now  alone  save 
for  his  young  caller,  rose  and  gave  him 
a  sprig  of  laurel. 

"  Sit  here,"  said  he,  resuming  his  seat  and 
pausing  for  a  little  to  study  a  sheet  of  vel- 
lum in  his  hands.  He  continued,  without 
raising  his  eyes : "  I  have  another  test  for  you, 
my  fair  son.  You  shall  be  assistant  pro- 
curator in  Jerusalem,  with  rank  of  tribune. 
78 


It  may  be  you  shall  have  command  of  the 
castle.  Three  days  from  now  take  the 
south  road  with  Manius  and  a  troop  of 
horse.  This  court  of  Herod — of  course,  I 
am  speaking  kindly,  my  dear  Vergilius — 
but,  you  may  know,  it  is  a  place  of  mys- 
teries, and  there  are  many  things  I  do  not 
need  to  say  to  you." 

The  old  emperor,  leaning  forward,  touch- 
ed the  arm  of  the  young  man  and  gave  him 
a  cunning  glance. 

"A  cipher,"  he  added,  passing  the  sheet 
of  vellum.  "  It  will  be  known  to  you  and 
to  me  only.  You  will  understand  what  I 
wish  to  know.  You  shall  have  command 
of  a  cohort." 

Vergilius  thought  for  a  second  of  that 
strange  overhauling  of  Manius  the  night  be- 
fore, and  of  the  shrewdness  of  the  great 
father  in  returning  him,  kindly,  to  his 
task,  with  a  pair  of  eyes  to  keep  watch  of 
him. 

"With  all  my  heart  I  thank  you,"  said 
the  young  knight.  "  But  —  my  beloved 
79 


father — I  was  hoping  to  marry  and — and 
know  the  path  of  peace." 

"But  I  am  sure  you  will  wait  two 
years — only  two  years,"  said  the  other, 
rising  with  extended  hands.  "There  is 
time  enough  ;  and  remember,  whether  to 
peace  or  war,  your  path  is  that  of  duty. 
Farewell!" 

It  was  a  way  he  had  of  commanding, 
kindly  but  inexorable,  and  Vergilius  knew 
it.  Again  he  spoke  as  the  knight  turned 
away. 

"This  young  Antipater — do  you  know 
him?" 

"Not  well." 

"But,  possibly,  well  enough,"  said  the 
emperor,  with  a  knowing  look.  Then, 
casually :  "  Oh,  there  is  yet  a  little  matter — 
that  new  king  the  Jews  are  looking  for — 
if  he  should  come,  I  suppose  he  will  report 
to  me,  but — but  let  me  know  what  you 
learn.  Study  the  Jewish  faith  and  discover 
what  this  hope  is  founded  upon."  Then 
he  turned  quickly  and  went  away. 
So 


TJrrgtltua 

This  "little  matter"  counted  much  with 
the  shrewd  emperor.  Kings  were  his  pup- 
pets, and  if  there  were  to  be  a  new  one 
he  must,  indeed,  consider  what  to  do  with 
him.  Yet  he  had  shame  of  his  interest  in 
"that  foolish  gossip"  of  an  alien  race. 
Therefore  he  put  it  only  as  a  trifling  after- 
thought. But  he  had  a  way  of  talking  with 
his  eyes,  and  the  alert  youth  read  them 
well. 

That  elation  of  the  young  lover  now  had 
its  boundary  of  thoughtfulness.  Going 
down  the  Palatine,  he  was  also  descending 
his  hill  of  happiness.  Below  him,  in  the 
Forum,  he  could  see  the  golden  mile-stone 
of  Augustus,  now  like  a  pillar  of  fire  in  the 
sunlight ;  he  could  see  the  beginning  of  those 
many  roads  radiating  from  it  to  far  periph- 
eries of  the  empire.  Tens  of  thousands 
had  turned  their  backs  upon  it,  leav- 
ing with  slow  feet,  some  to  live  in  dis- 
tant, inhospitable  lands,  some  to  die  of 
fever  and  the  sword,  some  to  return  for- 
gotten of  their  kindred,  and  some  few 
81 


with  laurels  of  renown;  but  all  of  these 
many  who  went  away  were  leaving,  for 
long  or  forever,  love  and  home  and 
peace. 

"  The  army  is  sucking  our  blood,  and  Hate 
grows  while  Love  is  starving,"  Vergilius  re- 
flected, as  he  went  along,  while  a  hideous, 
unwelcome  thought  grew  slowly,  creeping 
over  him.  This  golden  mile-stone  was  the 
centre  of  a  great  spider-web  laced  by  road 
and  sea  way  to  the  far  corners  of  the  empire ; 
and  that  cunning,  alert  man — who  was  he 
but  the  spider? 

"And  I — what  am  I,  now,  but  one  of  his 
flies  caught  in  the  mighty  web  ?"  he  thought. 
"  Love  and  its  peace  have  come  to  me  and 
I  shall  know  them — for  three  days — and 
perhaps  no  longer." 

His  wealth  and  rank  and  influence  might, 
if  used  with  diplomacy,  have  kept  him  at 
home,  for,  after  all,  he  was  a  Varro;  but 
Arria  had  been  used  to  press  him  into 
bondage. 

"Another  test !"  he  said  to  himself.   " Ah, 
82 


what  a  cunning  old  fox!  He  needed  a  spy, 
and  one  of  character  and  noble  blood. 
How  well  he  tested  my  cleverness!  And 
now  I  am  his,  body  and  soul." 


HILE  Vergilius,  going  slowly, 
was  thinking  of  these  things, 
Vanity,  the  only  real  god- 
dess who,  in  Rome,  managed 
the  great  theatre  of  fashion, 
had  her  stage  set  for  a  love 
scene.  It  was  to  occur  in 
the  triclinium,  or  great  banquet-hall,  of  a 
palace  —  that  of  the  Lady  Lucia.  There 
were  portrait-masks  and  mural  paintings 
on  either  wall;  ancestral  statues  of  white 
marble  stood  in  a  row  against  the  red  wall ; 
there  were  seats  and  divans  of  ebony  en- 
riched by  cunning  hands;  lamp-holders  of 
wrought  metal  standing  high  as  a  man's 
head,  and  immense  violet  rugs  on  the  floor. 
84 


The  heroine  wore  a  white  robe  banded  low 
with  purple,  and  her  jewelled  hair  was  in 
fillets  of  gold.  There  was  always  a  pretty 
artfulness  in  the  match-making  of  a  pa- 
trician beauty  and  her  mother.  Indeed, 
life  had  grown  far  from  elemental  emotions. 

"Now,  when  he  enters,"  said  the  girl, 
turning  to  the  Lady  Lucia,  "I  shall  bring 
him  here  at  once  and  sit  down  by  this  heap 
of  cushions,  and  then — Oh,  god  of  my  heart ! 
What  shall  I  do  with  that  big  man — what 
shall  I  say  to  him?" 

"My  dear,  he  will  speak,  and  then  you 
will  know  what  to  say,"  said  the  matron. 
"Only  do  not  let  him  know  that  you  love 
him — at  least,  not  for  a  time  yet." 

"Too  late;  I  fear  he  knows  it  now — the 
wretch!"  said  Arria,  rubbing  her  cheeks  to 
make  them  glow. 

"  But  mind  you  hold  him  off,  and  do  not 
let  him  caress  you  for  an  hour  at  least. 
One  kiss  and  one  only." 

"One!"  the  girl  repeated,  with  contempt. 
"How  ungenerous  are  the  old!" 
85 


Btrgtltafl 

"Hard  to  count  are  a  lover's  kisses,"  her 
mother  answered,  with  a  sigh.  "But  you 
can  use  them  up  in  a  day.  Really,  you  can 
use  them  up  all  in  a  day." 

"A  day  full  of  kisses!  Oh,  heart  of  me! 
Think  of  it!"  said  the  beautiful  girl,  cover- 
ing her  face  a  moment.  "I  will  not  have 
the  yellow  cushions,"  she  added,  quickly. 
"Here,  take  these  and  bring  me  two  violet 
ones,  and  that  cushion  of  gauze  filled  with 
rose  leaves.  I  will  have  that  in  my  lap 
when  we  are  sitting  here.  Now  what  do 
you  think  of  the  colors?"  she  demanded. 

"  Beautiful !  And  best  of  all  that  in  your 
cheeks.  I  doubt  not  he  will  worship  you." 

"Or  he  is  no  kind  of  a  man,"  said  Arria, 
thoughtfully.  "Oh,  son  of  Varro!  come,  I 
am  waiting.  If  he  takes  me  in  his  arms, 
what  shall  I  do?" 

"Thrust  him  aside — tell  him  that  you  do 
not  like  it." 

"And  what  shall  I  do  if  he  does  not?" 

"  Bid  him  go  at  once.  We  have  no  need 
of  any  half -men." 

86 


"  But  he  will,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  wor- 
ried look.  "  He  shall  embrace  me — he  shall, 
or — or  I  will  bid  my  brother  kill  him.  Oh, 
wretch!"  She  jumped  to  her  feet  with  a 
merry  cry.  "I  have  an  idea,"  she  added, 
clapping  her  hands.  "When  the  sunlight 
falls  on  the  floor  yonder,  I  will  get  up  and 
dance  in  it." 

"A  pretty  trick!"  said  her  mother. 

"Oh,  son  of  Varro!  why  do  you  not 
come?"  said  the  girl,  impatiently.  "I  love 
him  so  I  could  die  for  him — I  could  die  for 
him!  Perhaps  he  loves  me  not  and  I  shall 
never  see  him  again." 

She  hurried  to  the  outer  court,  whispering 
anxiously:  "  Come,  son  of  Varro.  Oh,  come 
quickly,  son  of  Varro!" 

When  Vergilius  arrived  Arria  was  wait- 
ing for  him  there  in  the  court  of  the  palace. 
Her  white  silk  rustled  as  she  ran  to  meet 
him.  Her  cheeks  had  the  pink  of  roses 
and  her  eyes  a  glow  in  them  like  that 
of  diamonds.  She  stopped  as  he  came 
near,  and  turned  away. 
87 


Vtrgiittta 

'Tears?"  said  he,  leaning  down,  with  his 
arms  about  her.  "  Oh,  love,  let  me  see  your 
face!" 

She  turned  quickly  with  a  little  toss  of 
her  head  and  took  a  step  backward. 

"You  shall  not  call  me  love,"  said  she — 
"not  yet.  You  have  not  told  me  that  you 
love  me." 

"  I  told  all  who  were  at  the  palace  of  the 
great  father." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me,  son  of  Varro." 

"I  do  love  you."     He  was  approaching. 

"  Hush !  Not  now,"  she  answered,  taking 
his  hand  in  hers — temporizing.  "Come,  I 
will  race  with  you." 

She  ran,  leading  him,  with  quick,  pattering 
feet  through  an  inner  hall  and  up  the  long 
triclinium.  There,  presently,  she  threw  her- 
self upon  the  heap  of  cushions. 

"Now,  sit,"  said  she,  draping  her  robe 
and  then  feeling  her  hair  that  was  aglow 
with  jewels. 

A  graceful  and  charming  creature  was  this 
child  of  the  new  empire,  a  noble  beauty 


ITcrgtUus 

in  her  face  and  form,  the  value  of  a  small 
kingdom  on  her  body.  "  Not  so  near,"  said 
she,  as  he  complied.  "Now,  son  of  my 
father's  friend,  say  what  you  will  and 
quickly." 

"  I  love  you,"  he  began  to  say. 

"Wait,"  she  whispered,  stopping  him  as 
she  turned,  looking  up  and  down  the  great 
hall.  "  It  is  for  me  alone.  I  will  not  share 
the  words  with  any  other.  Now  tell  me — 
tell  me,  son  of  Varro,"  she  whispered,  mov- 
ing nearer;  "tell  me  at  once." 

"I  love  you,  sweet  girl,  above  gods  and 
men.  You  are  more  to  me  than  crowns  of 
laurel  and  gold,  more  than  all  that  is  in  the 
earth  and  heavens.  My  heart  burns  when 
I  look  at  you." 

He  hesitated,  pressing  her  hand  upon  his 
lips. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  said  she,  with  a  pretty  sad- 
ness, looking  down  at  the  golden  braces  on 
her  fan.  "Now,  say  it  again,  all,  slowly." 

She  might  as  well  have  told  a  bird  how 
he  should  sing. 

7  89 


He  went  on  all  unconscious  of  her  com- 
mand, his  words  lighted  by  the  fire  in  his 
heart.  They  were  as  waters  rippling  in 
the  sun-glow. 

"Without  you  there  is  no  light  in  the 
heavens,  no  beauty  in  the  earth,  no  hope  or 
glory  in  the  future,  no  joy  in  my  heart.  My 
sword  threatens  me,  dear  love,  when  I  think 
of  losing  you." 

She  turned,  quickly,  with  almost  a  look 
of  surprise. 

"It  is  beautiful,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh; 
"but  is  there  no  more?  Think,  dear,  noble 
knight;  do  think  of  more!" 

She  was  near  forgetting  her  plan.  He 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"Think — think  of  more,"  said  she,  "and 
I  will  dance  the  tourina." 

There  was  a  note  of  gladness  in  her  voice. 
It  rang  merry  as  a  girdle  of  silver  bells. 
Now,  on  the  floor  near  them  was  a  golden 
square  of  sunlight,  and,  tabret  in  hand, 
she  sprang  up  and  began  to  dance  in  it. 
She  moved  swiftly  back  and  forth,  her 
90 


arms  extended,  her  white  robe  flowing 
above  the  sapphires  in  each  purple  fillet 
on  her  ankles 

"Now,  dear  Vergilius,  tell  me,  why  do 
you  love  me?"  she  said,  throwing  herself 
upon  the  cushions  near  him  with  glowing 
cheeks. 

"  Because  you  are  Arria.  Because  Arria 
is  you.  Because  I  must,  for  your  pure  and 
noble  heart  and  for  your  beauty,"  said 
he.  "When  I  look  upon  you  I  forget  my 
dreams  of  war  and  conquest;  I  think  only 
of  peace  and  love  and  have  no  longer 
the  heart  to  slay.  Oh,  sweet  Arria !  I  feel 
as  if  I  should  fling  my  swords  into  the 
Tiber." 

"Oh,  my  love!  could  I  make  you  throw 
your  swords  into  the  Tiber  I  should  be  very 
happy."  Her  eyes  had  turned  serious  and 
thoughtful.  Her  girlish  trickery  had  come 
to  an  end.  Vanity  retired,  now,  and  Love 
had  sole  command. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  rained 
kisses  upon  her  face,  her  hair,  her  eyes. 


"Say  it  all  again,  dear  Vergilius — say  it 
a  hundred  times,"  she  whispered. 

"My  dear  one,  I  love  you  more  than  I 
can  say.  Now  am  I  prepared  to  speak  in 
deeds,  in  faithfulness,  in  devotion." 

"But,  once  more,  why  do  you  love  me? 
Why  me?"  said  she,  moving  aside  with  an 
air  of  preoccupation,  her  chin  resting  upon 
her  hand,  her  elbow  upon  the  gauze  pillow 
of  rose  leaves  in  her  lap.  "  Is  it  my  beauty 
more  than  myself?" 

"No,"  he  answered;  "your  beauty  is  in- 
toxicating, and  I  thank  the  gods  for  it,  but 
your  sweet  self,  your  soul,  is  more,  far  more 
to  me  than  your  grace  and  all  your  loveli- 
ness." 

She  had  dreamed  of  such  love  but  never 
hoped  for  it,  and  now  all  the  pretty  tricks 
she  had  thought  of  had  become  as  the 
mummery  of  fools.  She  sat  in  silence  for 
a  little  space,  her  eyes  upon  her  girdle, 
and  a  new  and  serious  look  came  into  her 
face. 

"I  shall  try,  then,"  said  she,  presently— 
92 


"  I  shall  try  to  be  noble.  But  shall  you — 
shall  you  truly  throw  your  swords  into  the 
Tiber?" 

"  Would  I  might,"  said  he,  sadly.  "  And 
now  I  must  tell  you—  '  He  paused,  and 
Arria  turned  quickly,  her  lips  trembling  as 
her  color  faded. 

"In  three  days  I  go  to  Jerusalem," 
he  added,  "  by  command  of  the  em- 
peror." 

" For  how  long?"  she  whispered,  her  eyes 
taking  years  upon  them  as  the  seconds 
flew. 

"  For  two  years." 

Quickly  she  hid  her  face  in  the  cushions 
and  her  body  quivered.  That  old,  famil- 
iar cry,  which  had  in  it  the  history  and 
the  doom  of  Rome,  rang  in  the  great 
halls  around  them  —  that  cry  of  forsaken 
women. 

"The  iron  foot  is  upon  us,"  said  he. 
"Do  not  let  it  tread  you  down  as  it  has 
other  women.  Be  my  vestal  and  guard  the 
holy  fire  of  love." 

93 


Then  he  told  of  Cyran,  the  slave-girl,  and 
added:  "I  leave  her  in  your  care.  Every 
day  she  will  cause  you  to  think  of  me." 


mi    jm    Ml    ini    im  1M 


TUT  1«I    ur  lai    IX 


T  was  near  the  middle  hour 
of  the  night.  Many,  just  out 
of  banquet-hall,  theatre,  and 
circus,  thronged  the  main 
thoroughfares  of  the  capi- 
tal. Cries  of  venders,  ribald 
songs,  shouts  of  revelry,  the 
hurrying  of  many  feet  roused  the  good 
people  who,  wearied  by  other  nights  of  dis- 
sipation, now  sought  repose.  They  turned, 
uneasily,  reflecting  that  to-morrow  they 
would  have  their  revenge. 

Antipater  had  dined  with  but  a  single 

guest — a  young  priest,  who,  arriving  that 

very  day  from  Damascus,  had  sought  the 

palace  of  his  countryman.     The  service  at 

95 


his  table  had  not  pleased  the  prince. 
Leaping  from  his  couch,  he  struck  down 
a  slave  and  ordered  his  crucifixion.  It  was 
a  luckless  Arab,  who  many  times  had  un- 
wittingly offended  his  master. 

Now  the  son  of  Herod  lay  asleep  where, 
a  little  time  ago,  he  had  been  feasting. 
Manius,  who  had  just  entered  the  palace 
of  his  friend,  came  into  the  banquet -hall. 
He  touched  the  arm  of  Antipater,  who 
started  with  a  curse  and  rose  with  an 
apology. 

"I  was  dreaming  of  foes  and  I  see  a 
friend,"  he  muttered.  "Forgive  me,  noble 
Manius." 

The  prince  pulled  a  golden  bell-cord  that 
shone  against  the  green  pargeting  of  the 
wall. 

"Now  to  our  business,"  he  whispered, 
turning  to  the  officer. 

They  crossed  the  atrium,   descended   a 

stairway,  and  threw  open  a  barred  door. 

They  were  now  in  a  gloomy  passage  between 

walls  of  marble.    Antipater  halted,  pres- 

96 


ently,  and  tapped  with  his  seal  ring  on  a 
metal  door.  Then  a  rattle  of  bolts  and  the 
door  swung  open. 

"  Now,"  Antipater  whispered,  "  are  you  of 
the  same  mind?" 

"I  am." 

"And  again  you  swear  secrecy?" 

"I  do." 

Without  more  delay  they  entered  a  room 
walled  with  white  marble  and  lighted  by 
candles.  A  bearded  Jew,  in  a  scarlet 
cloak  embroidered  with  gold,  rose  to  greet 
them. 

"To  John  ben  Joreb  I  present  the  noble 
Manius,"  said  Antipater. 

"  Blessings  of  the  one  God  be  upon  thee," 
said  Ben  Joreb,  bowing  low. 

"And  the  favor  of  many  gods  on  thee," 
said  the  assessor.  "From  Jerusalem?" 

"Nay,  from  Damascus." 

Antipater  stirred  the  fire  in  iron  braziers 
on  either  side  of  the  room,  and  then  bade 
them  recline  beside  him  at  a  small  table 
whereon  a  supper  waited. 
97 


"  Ben  Joreb  has  good  news  of  our  plan," 
said  he,  turning  to  Manius. 

"It  prospers,"  said  the  priest.  "Our 
council  is  now  in  thirty  cities." 

"And  the  king  is  better,"  said  Manius. 
"He  will  not  soon  perish  of  infirmity." 

"  But  you  tell  me  that  my  father  suffers?" 

Antipater  started  nervously.  A  long, 
weird  wail  from  the  Arab  dying  on  a 
cross  in  the  garden  flooded  down  the 
flues. 

"A  hundred  deaths  a  day,"  said  Ben 
Joreb. 

"I  have  been  talking  with  Manius,"  An- 
tipater answered.  "  He  thinks  it  would  be 
a  mercy  to— 

He  was  interrupted  again.  That  trem- 
ulous, awful  cry  for  mercy  found  its  way 
to  his  ear.  It  seemed  to  mock  the  sacred 
word.  Antipater  jumped  to  his  feet,  curs- 
ing. 

"  I  will  put  an  end  to  that,"  said  he,  rush- 
ing to  the  door  and  flinging  it  back  and 
running  down  the  passage. 
98 


Manius  turned  to  Ben  Joreb. 

"What  is  there  in  the  howling  of  that 
slave?"  he  whispered.  "I  am  weak-heart- 
ed." 

"  I  take  it  for  a  sign,"  the  other  answered, 
gravely.  "  It  is  written,  '  Thy  spirit  shall 
be  as  the  candle  of  the  Lord,'  and,  again, 
'  Thou  shalt  hearken  to  the  cry  of  anguish.' " 

In  a  few  moments  Antipater  returned. 

"I  have  summoned  the  carnifex,"  said 
he,  bolting  the  door  and  resuming  his  place 
at  the  table.  "I  was  saying  to  you,  good 
Manius,  that  my  friend  here,  Ben  Joreb, 
would  think  it  a  great  mercy  to  remove 
him." 

"A  great  mercy!"  Ben  Joreb  answered; 
"a  man's  mercy  to  him;  a  God's  mercy  to 
his  people." 

"And  what  think  you?"  said  Antipater, 
turning  to  Manius. 

"  I  agree ;  'twould  be  a  mercy,  but  a  risky 
enterprise,"  said  the  Roman. 

"  I  would  risk  my  head  to  save  him  a  day 
of  pain,"  said  the  treacherous  son  of  Herod. 
99 


"You  love  him  not  as  I  do  or  you  would 
brave  all  to  end  his  misery." 

There  was  now  half  a  moment  filled  with 
a  long,  piercing  cry  from  beyond  the  walls 
of  the  palace  until  Antipater  spoke,  a  tiger 
look  in  his  face  again.  "  Put  the  lance  into 
him,  my  good  carnifex,"  he  growled,  strik- 
ing with  clinched  fist.  "Again,  now;  and 
again,  and  again." 

He  listened  for  a  breath,  and  as  silence 
came  he  added,  "There,  that  will  do." 

Neither  spoke  for  a  little  time. 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel  how  dearly 
I  love  my  father,"  he  went  on,  addressing 
his  friends  now  and  hiding  his  claws  with 
revolting  guile  and  all  unconscious  that  he 
had  shown  them. 

Again  a  breath  of  silence,  in  which  Manius 
thought  of  the  black  leopard  when  he  lay 
making  those  playful  and  caressing  move- 
ments on  the  floor.  And  there  came  to 
the  heart  of  Ben  Joreb  a  fear  that  this 
man  might  prove  more  terrible  than  his 
father. 

100 


"We  feel  it,"  said  Manius,  with  inner 
smiles  that  showed  not  upon  his  face. 

"Then  be  servants  of  my  love." 

"  And  of  our  own  welfare  ?" 

' '  Certainly !  You  shall  each  have  a  palace 
in  Jerusalem  and  fifty  thousand  aurei ;  and 
you,  Manius,  shall  command  the  forces  on 
land  and  sea,  and  you,  John  ben  Joreb,  of 
the  tribe  of  Aaron,  shall  be  high-priest." 

"I  agree,"  said  Manius,  an  overwhelming 
cupidity  in  the  words. 

"And  I  agree,"  said  the  Jew,  who  had 
entered  upon  this  intrigue  with  motives  of 
patriotism,  and  now,  although  suspicious 
of  the  result,  was  committed  beyond  a 
chance  of  turning. 

"Angels  of  mercy!"  An tipater exclaimed, 
rising  and  taking  a  hand  of  each  in  his. 
"  My  love  shall  be  ever  a  shield  and  weapon 
for  you.  One  other  thing.  The  couriers 
who  bring  to  Rome  news  of  my  father's 
death — bid  them  hurry  and  take  with  them, 
also,  word  of  the  illness  of  that  dog  Ver- 
gilius.  After  they  leave  let  him  not  linger 
101 


in  needless  pain — do  you  understand  me? 
For  that,  I  say,  each  of  you  shall  have  five 
thousand  aurei  added  to  his  wealth." 

The  others  nodded. 

"Now  take  this — it  may  be  useful," 
whispered  the  prince  of  Judea,  handing 
a  little  golden  box  to  the  assessor.  "  There 
is  something  in  it  will  hasten  the  effect 
of  wine  —  a  fine  remedy  for  a  weary 
land,  good  Manius.  He  that  makes  it  a 
friend  shall  have  no  enemies.  Hold,  let 
me  think.  That  old  fox  on  the  hill  yonder 
has  a  thousand  eyes  and  his  ears  are  every- 
where. Not  a  word,  Manius,  after  we  leave 
this  door.  In  yon  passage  turn  to  the 
right.  Walk  until  your  head  touches  the 
ceiling,  then  creep  to  the  door.  Open  it 
and  use  your  ears.  If  no  one  is  passing,  go 
straight  ahead.  You  will  come  to  a  gate  on 
the  Via  Sacra.  You,"  he  added,  turning 
to  Ben  Joreb,  "shall  leave  by  the  main 
gate." 

When  both  had  gone,  this  prince  of  Judea 
walked  across  the  inner  hall  of  his  palace 

102 


and  flung  himself  on  the  cushions  of  a  great 
divan. 

A  swarthy  eunuch  came  near  him  on  tip- 
toe. 

"  Begone !' '  The  word  burst  from  the  lips 
of  Antipater  in  a  hoarse  growl,  and,  like 
a  tiger's  paw,  his  hand  struck  the  cush- 
ions in  front  of  him.  As  he  lay  blinking 
drowsily,  his  chin  upon  his  hands,  there 
was  still  in  his  face  and  attitude  a  sugges- 
tion of  the  monster  cat. 

And  he  thought  fondly  of  his  wreaking 
of  vengeance  when  he  should  be  crowned 
the  great  king  of  prophetic  promise — of  the 
fury  of  armies,  of  the  stench  of  the  slain, 
of  the  cry  of  the  ravished,  of  "mountains 
melting  in  blood." 


103 


T  was  the  fifth  anniversary, 
of  that  resolution  of  the 
*"  senate  fathers  to  consecrate 
the  altar  of  Peace.  Pilgrims 
thronged  the  city,  and  some 
had  journeyed  far.  Tens 
of  thousands  surrounded  the 
great  monument,  immense  and  beautiful 
beyond  any  in  the  knowledge  of  men. 
It  signalized  a  remarkable  state  of  things 
— the  world  was  at  peace.  More  than 
seven  centuries  before  that  day  an  idea 
had  entered  the  heart  of  a  prophet;  now 
it  was  in  the  very  heart  of  the  world. 
This  heap  of  marble,  under  pagan  gods, 
had  given  it  grand,  if  only  partial,  ex- 
104 


Hergiliua 

pression.  There  was  no  symbol  of  war 
in  the  long  procession  of  its  upper  frieze, 
and  its  lower  was  like  a  sculptured  song 
of  peace  wrought  in  fruits  and  bees  and 
birds  and  blossoms.  Here  was  a  mighty 
plant  flowering  twice  a  year  and  giving 
its  seed  to  the  four  winds.  Every  July 
and  January  its  erection  was  celebrated 
in  the  imperial  republic. 

Vergilius  stood  beside  the  emperor  that 
day  when,  at  the  Ars  Pacis  Augustas,  .he 
addressed  the  people. 

"I  have  been  reading,"  he  said,  "the 
words  of  a  certain  dreamer  of  Judea,  who,  in 
the  olden  time,  wrote  of  a  day  when  swords 
should  be  beaten  into  ploughshares  and 
spears  into  pruning-hooks,  and  when  peace 
should  reign  among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
Well,  give  me  an  army  for  a  hundred  years, 
good  people,  and  then  I  may  voice  the  will  of 
the  gods  that  iron  be  used  no  more  to  plough 
its  way  in  living  flesh,  but  only  to  turn  the 
furrow  and  to  prune  the  tree.  Meanwhile, 
believe  me,  every  man  must  learn  to  love 
s  105 


honor  and  virtue,  and  to  respect  his  neigh- 
bor, and  the  gods  above  all." 

A  hundred  years!  The  playful  emperor 
knew  not  how  quickly  a  man  passes  and 
how  slowly,  how  exceeding  slowly,  moves 
the  great  procession  of  mankind.  But  so 
it  befell ;  the  very  right  hand  of  Jupiter  had 
helped  in  the  sowing  of  that  seed  which, 
as  it  grew,  was  to  lift  the  foundations  of  his 
power. 

Vergilius  left  the  scene  with  Augustus. 
They  rode  away  in  the  royal  litter. 

"  In  all  the  great  cities  men  are  speaking 
to-day  of  the  value  of  peace  and  honor," 
said  the  subtle  emperor — a  sceptic  in  re- 
ligion, a  cynic  in  philosophy,  a  rake  in  pri- 
vate life,  and  a  conqueror  who  commanded 
"peace"  with  a  trained  army  of  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  men. 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  to  do,"  said  the  young 
knight. 

"Give  me  men  enough  to  say  it,  and  if 
they  grow  not  weary  I  will  bring  the  world 
to  believe  that  the  sun  is  only  the  breast- 
106 


plate  of  Jupiter,"  said  Augustus.  "Honor 
and  peace  are  good  things — do  not  forget 
that,  my  young  friend.  Give  the  words  to 
your  tongue,  not  flippantly,  but  with  a  sober 
eye,  and  often,  my  brave  knight  —  often. 
You  leave  to-morrow  —  have  you  made 
ready?" 

"Ready  but  for  the  leave-taking;"  this 
with  a  sigh. 

"It  ill  becomes  you  to  be  cast  down. 
Shake  your  heart  with  laughter — it  will  roll 
away  the  stone  of  regret.  Buy  a  fool,  my 
young  friend.  For  five  thousand  denarii 
you  may  obtain  a  most  excellent  fool." 

He  knew  the  price  of  all,  from  the  hewer 
of  wood  to  the  crowned  king,  but  only  he 
could  afford  a  slave  like  that. 

"I  should  prefer  a  wise  man,"  said  the 
young  knight. 

"  Philosophers  are  more  expensive,"  the 
father  continued,  craftily — "twenty  thou- 
sand denarii,  and  dear  at  that.  They  will 
teach  you  little  but  discontent.  I  recom- 
mend a  grammarian." 
107 


The  old  emperor  turned  his  cunning  eyes 
upon  the  face  of  Vergilius. 

"Forty  thousand,  at  least,  for  a  good 
one,"  he  added ;  "  but  a  youth  of  your  talent 
should  remember  the  value  of  immortal 
fame."  Word  and  look  were  a  hint  to  the 
young  man  that  he  should  prepare  himself 
with  all  diligence  for  an  active  career  in  the 
senate.  The  youth  understood  their  mean- 
ing and  was  a  trifle  comforted.  There  was 
no  promise  nor  the  least  warrant  for  a  claim 
— it  was  only  the  emperor's  way  of  guiding. 

They  were  now  passing  a  row  of  shops  on 
the  Via  Claudia.  The  emperor,  putting 
his  hand  out  of  the  door,  motioned  to  his 
lecticarii  and  they  halted. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  the  great  man. 

They  left  the  litter  and  entered  a  large 
shop.  There  Augustus  bought  many  gifts 
for  the  young  man — new  arms,  a  beautiful 
corselet,  a  girdle  of  the  look  of  knitted  gold 
— for  the  Roman  wore  a  girdle  in  Judea — 
articles  of  apparel  suited  to  the  climate  of 
the  Far  East.  The  shop  had  filled  with 
108 


people,  who  tried  to  cover  their  curiosity 
by  the  purchase  of  trifles. 

"This  cloth  would  make  a  fine  toga," 
said  the  shopkeeper. 

The  emperor  surveyed  it  closely. 

"  Let  me  hold  it  up  to  the  light  and  then 
you  will  see  its  texture,"  the  other  con- 
tinued. 

"You  are  a  hard  master,"  said  Augustus. 
"You  would  have  us  walk  on  the  house- 
tops to  show  the  fineness  of  our  togas  ?  It 
is  enough.  Let  us  pass,  good  people." 

A  cheer,  starting  at  the  shop  door,  went 
to  the  far  sides  of  the  city.  It  signified 
that  the  ernperor  was  out  among  the  people 
and  in  his  best  mood. 

Their  nomenclator  cleared  a  way  for  them 
to  the  litter  and  they  sat  down  again,  facing 
each  other,  the  emperor  and  the  boy. 

"If  I  had  your  riches,"  the  great  man 
remarked,  as  they  went  on,  "I  wonder 
what  I  should  do  with  them." 

"You  jest  with  me,  good  father,"  said 
Vergilius. 

109 


" Nay,  but  I  envy  you;  for  have  you  not 
youth  and  love  and  the  beauty  of  Apollo?" 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  boy, 
and  there  was  in  his  voice  and  manner  a 
gentleness  to  make  one  regret  that  he  lived 
not  in  a  better  time ;  for,  perhaps,  after  all, 
he  was  what  he  had  to  be  as  the  ruthless 
conqueror  of  a  savage  world. 

"And  I — what  have  I  but  burdens  I  dare 
not  lay  aside?  When  I  sleep,  even,  they 
press  upon  me.  I  am  weary  —  but  if  I 
should  let  them  fall,  what,  think  you,  would 
happen?" 

His  keen  eyes,  seeing  before  them,  possi- 
bly, the  great  down-rush  to  madness,  pressed 
a  glance  into  the  very  soul  of  the  young 
man.  The  latter  started  to  reply,  but  with 
a  look  the  emperor  forbade  him. 

"Think,  good  youth — learn  to  think.  It 
will  profit  you — there  is  so  little  competi- 
tion. By-and-by  Rome  will  need  you." 

Gently,  forcefully  this  teacher  of  states- 
men had  given  the  young  knight  his  first 
lesson.  It  was  nearing  its  end  now.  The 
no 


litter  had  stopped  hard  by  the  gate  of 
the  Lady  Lucia. 

"I  wonder  how  you  knew  my  destina- 
tion," said  Vergilius. 

"You  credit  me  with  small  discernment. 
Learn  to  know  things  that  are  not  told  you 
—it  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom." 


L 


JRRIA  met  them  in  the 
atrium.  She  saw  not  the 
great  father  of  Rome,  but 
only  her  lover,  and  ran  to 
him  with  a  little  cry  of  de- 
flight. 

The  playful  emperor 
mounted  a  chair  and  stood  looking  down  at 
them. 

"I  am  so  small  here  in  the  presence  of 
this  great  king,"  said  he,  as  they  turned  to 
him.  "  Were  my  head  as  high  as  the  ceiling 
I  am  sure  I  should  not  be  seen." 

"What  king,  good  father?"  said  Arria, 
bowing  low. 

"Love!     Tis  better,  I  have  heard,  to  be 
112 


ruler  of  one  than  of  many.     You  give  him 
kisses,  little  tyrant,  and  me  not  a  glance." 

He  looked  down,  smiling  at  the  pretty 
maiden. 

"  Because  'tis  he  I  love,"  said  she,  her 
cheeks  red  with  blushes,  her  eyes  upon  her 
sandals.  "You — you  have  been  cruel." 

"  I  am  sadly  out  of  favor,"  said  Augustus, 
playfully,  stepping  to  the  floor.  "If  the 
great  king  dared,  I  am  sure  he  would  cut 
off  my  head,  now.  Let  him  not  condemn  me 
without  trial .  Remember  the  law  of  Rome . ' ' 

"You  are  sending  my  love  away."  Her 
voice  trembled  as  she  spoke. 

"And  happy  are  you,  sweet  girl,  to  have 
so  much  to  give  to  your  country." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then 
said  the  emperor:  "  Be  merry.  'Tis  not  for 
long." 

"  'Tis  a  thousand  years!"  said  she,  sadly. 

He  was  fond  of  the  young,  and  her  frank 
innocence  appealed  to  all  best  in  the  heart 
of  the  old  emperor.  He  turned  to  greet  the 
Lady  Lucia. 

"3 


"Come  with  me,  son  of  Varro,"  said 
Arria,  taking  the  arm  of  her  lover  and  lead- 
ing him  away.  "It  will  soon  be  to-mor- 
row." 

"And  I  am  acquitted?"  So  spoke  the 
emperor. 

"You  are  condemned  to  the  company  of 
my  mother,"  said  Arria,  quickly. 

She  wore  a  tunic  of  the  color  of  violets, 
with  not  a  jewel.  Now  she  led  her  lover 
to  a  heap  of  yellow  cushions  in  the  tri- 
clinium. 

"Dear  Vergilius,"  said  she,  turning  to 
him  with  a  serious  look  as  they  sat  down ; 
"tell  me  again — say  to  me  again  how  you 
love  me."  She  held  his  hand  against  her 
cheek  and  her  eyes  looked  into  his. 

"Oh,  my  beloved!  I  have  thought  of 
naught  else  since  I  saw  you.  I  have  heard 
your  pretty  feet  and  the  rustle  of  your  tunic 
in  my  dreams;  I  have  felt  the  touch  of 
your  hands ;  every  moment  I  have  seen  your 
face — now  glowing  with  happiness,  now 
white  and  lovely  with  sorrow.  And,  dear, 
114 


Tlergtltua 

I  love  its  sorrow — I  confess  to  you  that  I 
love  its  sorrow  better  than  its  happiness. 
I  saw  in  your  sad  eyes,  then,  a  thing  dearer 
than  their  beauty.  It  told  me  that  you 
felt  as  I  feel — that  you  would  live  and,  if 
need  be,  die  for  the  love  of  me." 

The  girl  listened  thoughtfully,  and  moved 
close  to  her  lover;  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 
She  had  dreamed  of  many  things  to  say,  but 
now  she  only  whispered  to  him,  her  lips 
against  his  ear,  the  simple  message:  " I  love 
you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you."  Then :  "  But 
I  forgot,"  said  she,  pushing  him  away,  a 
note  of  fear  in  her  voice.  She  straightened 
the  folds  of  her  tunic,  and  drew  the  trans- 
parent silk  close  to  her  full,  white  bosom. 
It  was  all  unconscious  as  the  trick  of  a 
wooing  bird. 

"And  what  did  you  forget?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  That  you  are  you,  and  a  man,"  said  she, 
sighing.     "  In  some  way  it  is — it  is  such  a 
pity.     I  dare  not  suffer  you  to  caress  me. 
And  yet — and  yet,  I  do  love  it." 
"5 


"And  your  lips,"  said  he,  embracing  her, 
"they  are  to  me  as  the  gate  of  Elysium!" 

"  It  may  be  we  are  now  in  the  islands  of 
the  blest  and  know  them  not, ' '  she  whispered . 

She  tried  to  draw  herself  away. 

"  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Indeed,  I  cannot 
let  you  go." 

"And  I  am  glad,"  she  answered,  with  a 
little  laugh,  her  hand  caressing  his  brow. 
"  I  do  love  the  feel  of  your  arms  and  your 
lips— beautiful  son  of  Varro!" 

"I  will  not  let  you  go  until — until  you 
have  promised  to  be  my  bride.  Think,  the 
term  is  only  two  years." 

"  Be  it  one  or  many,  I  will  be  your  bride," 
said  she.  "And  although  you  were  never 
to  return,  yet  would  I  always  wait  for  you 
and  think  of  this  day." 

She  drew  herself  away  and  sat  thoughtful, 
her  chin  upon  her  hands. 

"Now  are  you  most  beautiful,"  said  he, 
"with  that  little  touch  of  sorrow  in  your 
face.  It  gives  me  high  thoughts  to  look 
at  you." 

116 


While  they  were  thus  sitting  a  woman, 
well  past  middle  age,  came  into  their  pres- 
ence. She  stopped  near  the  feet  of  Arria. 
It  was  her  grandmother,  the  Lady  Claudia, 
once  a  beauty  of  the  great  capital,  now  gray 
and  wrinkled,  but  still  erect  with  patrician 
pride. 

Vergilius  had  risen  quickly,  bowed  low, 
and  kissed  her  hand. 

"  I  often  saw  you,  son  of  my  friend,  when 
you  were  a  child,"  said  she.  "  I  remember 
when  you  were  young  you  went  away  with 
the  legions." 

"To  learn  the  art  of  war,"  he  answered. 

"Sit  down,  dear  grandmother,"  said  the 
girl,  as  he  brought  a  chair.  "  Now  let  her 
hear  you  tell  me  why  it  is  that  you  have 
chosen  me,  dear  Vergilius  —  let  her  hear 
you." 

"  I  know  not.  Perhaps  because  your 
beauty,  sweet  girl,  is  like  the  snare  of  the 
fowler  and  brought  me  to  your  hand.  Then 
something  in  your  eyes  captured  the  heart 
of  me — something  better  than  beauty.  It  is 
117 


the  light  of  your  soul.  Love  and  peace  and 
innocence  and  gentleness  and  all  good  are  in 
it.  That  is  why." 

The  two  embraced  each  other.  The 
Lady  Claudia  rose  and  came  and  put  her 
hands  upon  them,  and  her  voice  trembled 
with  emotion. 

"They  are  beautiful,"  said  she,  "the 
kisses  of  the  young,  and  their  words  are  as 
the  music  of  Apollo's  lyre.  I  thank  the 
gods  I  have  seen  it  all  again.  But  you  are 
going  away  to-morrow.  Son  of  Varro,  be 
not  as  other  men.  Remember  it  is  not  well 
for  women  to  live  apart  from  the  men  they 
love." 

"I  leave  at  daybreak,"  said  the  young 
knight.  '  'Tis  for  two  years,  so  said  the 
emperor;  for  '  only '  two  years." 

"She  shall  not  be  as  others  I  have 
known,"  said  the  Lady  Claudia.  "It  is  an 
evil  time,  good  youth;  but,  remember,  as 
men  are  so  are  women.  Last  night  I 
dreamed  a  wonderful  dream  of  you  two, 
and  of  a  sweet,  immortal  love  between  men 
118 


and  women.  Some  say  the  dreams  of  men 
are,  indeed,  the  plans  of  the  gods.  Pray  to 
them.  It  may  be  they  will  give  you  this 
great  love." 

"It  is  here — it  is  in  her  soul  and  mine!" 
the  youth  declared,  his  arm  about  Arria. 
"It  has  prepared  us  for  any  trial — even 
parting." 

"  I  have  so  much  happiness  already,"  said 
the  girl.  "So  much  —  it  will  keep  me 
through  many  years." 

"  Then  it  is  the  great  love,  and  I  thank  the 
gods  I  have  seen  it,"  said  the  Lady  Claudia. 
"Who  may  say  where  it  shall  end?"  She 
came  near  them  as  she  spoke  and  offered 
her  cheek  to  the  boy.  He  kissed  her,  and 
she  went  away  with  tears  upon  her  face. 

"  Now  you  are  brave  and  strong  with  this 
great  love  in  you,"  said  Vergilius.  "  Let  it 
bear  you  up  as  I  leave  the  palace.  Promise 
you  will  not  cry  out.  If  you  do,  my  be- 
loved, I  shall  hear  always  the  sound  of 
mourning  when  I  think  of  you." 

"Then  I  shall  not  weep,"  said  she, 
119 


bravely,  but  with  a  little  quiver  in  her 
voice. 

She  knew  the  old  story  of  a  young  man's 
love — how  often  he  went  away  with  sweet 
words,  to  return,  if  ever,  hardened  to  stern 
trials  and  bloody  work,  his  vows  long  for- 
gotten. 

"  For  your  sake,  dear  Vergilius,  I  will  be 
calm,"  she  added. 

"  Now  sit  here,"  said  he,  as  he  led  her  to 
the  heap  of  cushions,  ''just  as  I  saw  you  a 
little  time  ago.  Rest  your  chin  upon  your 
hands.  There;  now  your  soul  is  in  your 
eyes.  Let  me  see  only  this  picture  as 
I  go." 

He  took  a  handful  of  her  curls  and  let 
them  fall  upon  her  shoulders.  Then  he 
crowned  her  with  a  sprig  of  vervain  from 
a  vase  near  by. 

"I  will  not  weep — I  will  not  weep,"  she 
repeated,  her  voice  trembling  as  he  touched 
her  hair. 

He  moved  backward  slowly,  as  one  might 
leave  a  queen.  Her  eyes  followed  him,  and 
120 


suddenly  she  rose  and  flew  to  his  arms 
again. 

"I  will  not  weep — I  will  not  weep,"  said 
she,  brokenly.  Again  he  held  her  to  his 
breast. 

"Though  you  get  fame  and  glory,  forget 
not  love,"  she  whispered. 

"Dear  one,"  he  exclaimed,  kissing  her, 
"  this  hour  shall  be  in  every  day  of  my 
life." 

"  But  with  adventures  and  battles  and 
the  praise  of  kings  it  is  so  easy  to  forget." 

"  But  with  one  so  noble  and  so  beautiful 
at  home  it  will  be  easy  to  remember.  Let 
us  be  brave.  I  am  only  a  woman  myself 
to-day.  Help  me  to  be  a  man." 

He  led  her  again  to  the  cushions,  and  she 
sat  as  before — a  picture,  now,  beyond  all 
art,  sublime  indeed  with  love  and  sorrow 
and  trustfulness  and  repression.  It  was 
that  look  of  abnegation  upon  her  that  he 
remembered. 

"  T  shall  not  rise  nor  speak  again,  dear  son 
of  Varro,"  said  she.  "  You  shall  know  that 

9  121 


my  love  for  you  has  made  me  strong.  See, 
dear  love.  Look  at  my  face  and  see  how 
brave  I  am."  Her  voice,  now  calm,  had 
in  it  some  power  that  touched  him  deeply. 
It  was  the  great,  new  love  between  men 
and  women  —  forerunner  of  the  mighty 
revolution. 

He  stood  silent,  looking  down  at  her. 
The  song  of  a  nightingale  rang  in  the 
great  halls.  He  turned  and  brought  a 
lyre  that  lay  on  a  table  near  them.  She 
took  it  in  her  hands.  Then  it  seemed  as  if 
her  sorrow  fell  upon  the  strings,  and  in 
their  music  was  the  voice  of  her  soul. 

He  bowed  before  her,  whispering  a  prayer ; 
he  put  all  his  soul  into  one  long  look  and 
quickly  went  away. 

Then  she  rose  and  ran  to  the  end  of  the 
banquet-hall.  "I  can  hear  his  voice,"  she 
whispered.  "No,  I  must  not  go — I  must 
not  go." 

A  moment  followed  in  which  there  came 
to  her  a  sound  of  distant  voices.  She  stilled 
her  sobs  and  listened.  She  ran  towards  the 

122 


loved  voice  and  checked  her  eager  feet. 
She  stood  a  moment  with  arms  extended. 
The  sound  grew  fainter  and  a  hush  fell. 
She  ran  to  the  white  statue  of  the  little 
god  Eros,  and,  kneeling,  threw  her  arms 
around  the  shapely  form  and  wept  bitterly. 


HE  dark  was  lifting  as  Ver- 
gilius  entered  the  Field  of 
Mars.  There  were  lanterns 
about  his  litter,  and  far  and 
near,  in  lines  and  clusters,  he 
could  see  lights  on  the  plain, 
some  moving,  some  standing 
still.  Hard  by  the  Tiber  he  joined  a  small 
troop  of  horse,  and  vaulting  on  the  shaft  of 
his  lance,  mounted  a  white  charger.  Manius 
wheeled  into  place  beside  him  at  the  head  of 
the  column.  A  quaestor  called  the  roll. 

"Ready?"  Vergilius  inquired,  turning  to 
Manius. 

"All  ready,"  the  other  answered. 
Then  a  trumpet  sounded  and  those  many 
124 


feet  had  begun  the  long  journey  to  Jeru- 
salem. They  made  their  way  to  the  Forum. 
Scores  of  women  and  children  of  the  families 
of  those  departing  had  gathered  by  the  gold- 
en mile -stone.  The  troop  halted.  Those 
who  had  been  waiting  in  the  dank,  chill  air 
sought  to  press  in  among  the  horses.  It 
was  hard  to  keep  them  back.  Vergilius, 
full  of  his  own  sorrow,  felt  for  them  and 
gave  them  good  time.  A  little  group,  in 
gray  paenula  and  veils,  were  watching  from 
without  the  crowd .  He  moved  aside,  beckon- 
ing to  them. 

"Make  your  farewells,"  said  he,  as  they 
came  near.  "  We  shall  be  off  in  a  moment. ' ' 

A  beautiful  white  hand  was  extended  to 
him.  He  took  it  in  his,  and  then  quickly 
pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"Farewell,  dear  love!"  he  whispered. 

A  quick  pressure  answered  him,  and  the 
veiled  figure  turned  away.  Then  a  trump- 
et-call, a  flash  of  blue  vexilla  and  silver 
eagles  in  the  air,  and,  a  moment  later,  some 
eighty  hoofs  were  drumming  in  the  Appian 
125 


Way.  For  a  little  the  horsemen  heard  them 
that  were  left  behind,  wailing. 

"  It  is  like  a  sticking  of  pigs  to  leave  a  lot 
of  plebeian  women,"  said  Manius,  when  the 
sound  was  far  out  of  hearing. 

"An  arrow  in  the  heart  of  the  soldier,  but 
I  think  it  good,"  said  Vergilius.  "For  a 
time,  at  least,  Rome  will  be  dear  to  him." 

There  were  forty  men  riding  in  the  troop, 
all  lancers,  saving  a  few  slingers  and  bow- 
men. They  rattled  over  the  hard  Way  at 
a  pace  of  fifteen  miles  an  hour.  It  was  an 
immense,  rock-paved  road  —  this  Appian 
Way — straight,  wide,  and  level,  flinging  its 
arches  over  fen,  river,  and  valley,  and  break- 
ing through  hill  and  mountain  to  the  dis- 
tant sea.  No  citizen  might  bring  his  horse 
upon  it  unless  a  diploma  had  been  granted 
him — it  was,  indeed,  for  the  larger  purposes 
of  the  government.  After  two  hours  they 
drew  up  at  a  posting  -  house  and  changed 
horses.  They  rode  this  mount  some  forty 
miles,  halting  at  a  large  inn,  its  doors  flush 
with  the  road.  A  transport  and  postal  train 
126 


bound  for  Rome  was  expected  shortly,  and, 
before  eating,  Vergilius  wrote  a  letter  and 
had  it  ready  when  the  wagons  came  rattling 
in  a  deep-worn  rut,  behind  teams  of  horses 
moving  at  a  swift  gallop.  There  were  five 
wagons  in  the  train,  bearing  letters  and 
light  merchandise  from  the  south.  Hard  by 
was  one  of  the  wheelwright-shops  that  lined 
the  great  thoroughfare.  The  train  stopped 
only  a  moment  for  water  and  a  new  wheel, 
then  rushed  along  on  its  way  to  the  capital. 
A  light  meal  of  bread  and  porridge,  half  an 
hour  of  rest,  and  again,  with  new  horses, 
the  troop  was  in  full  career.  A  sense  of 
loneliness  grew  in  the  heart  of  the  youth 
as  he  journeyed.  Lover  and  soldier  had 
fought  their  duel,  and  the  latter  was  out- 
done. But  the  lover's  courage  was  now 
sorely  tried.  Every  mounted  courier  has- 
tening to  Rome  on  the  south  road  bore  a 
letter  from  the  young  man  to  her  he  loved. 
He  met  a  legion  of  infantry  going  north, 
and  envied  every  soldier,  sweating  under  a 
set  pace  of  four  miles  to  the  hour  and  a  bur- 
127 


den  of  sixty  pounds — shield,  helmet,  breast- 
plate, pilum,  swords,  intrenching  tools, 
stakes  for  a  palisade,  and  corn  for  seven- 
teen days. 

A  trireme  was  waiting  for  them  on  the 
Adriatic  Sea,  and  Vergilius,  Manius,  and 
their  escort  sailed  to  northwestern  Mace- 
donia, mounted  horses  again,  galloping  over 
the  great  highway  to  Athens ;  crossed  by  tri- 
reme to  Ephesus,  thence  to  Antioch  by  the 
long  sea  -  road,  and,  agreeably  with  orders, 
they  began  to  leave  their  men  at  forts  along 
the  frontier. 

Events  on  the  way  filled  him  with  con- 
tempt for  his  country  and  for  himself.  Here 
and  there  he  met  people  travelling  under 
imperial  passes  that  gave  them  the  use  of 
the  road  and  a  right  of  free  levy  for  sub- 
sistence, often  much  abused.  These  trav- 
ellers were  people  of  leisure  from  the  large 
cities,  wont  to  stretch  their  power  to  the 
point  of  robbery.  He  saw  them  seizing 
slaves  and  cattle  from  terrified  agrarians; 
he  saw  Manius  strike  a  man  down  for  re- 
128 


sen  ting  insults  to  his  daughter;  he  saw  the 
deadly  toil  of  the  oarsmen,  the  bitter  pun- 
ishment of  the  cross. 

His  heart  was  now  sore  and  sensitive. 
Was  it  the  new  love  which  had  flung  off  its 
shield  of  sternness  and  left  it  exposed  to 
every  lash  that  flew  ?  The  misery  of  others 
afflicted  him.  Thoughts  of  injustice  grew 
into  motives  of  action,  the  loss  of  faith 
into  the  gain  of  unutterable  longing.  Who 
were  these  gods  who  heard  not  the  cry 
of  the  weak  and  were  ever  on  the  side 
of  the  strong?  Were  they  only  in  those 
hands  of  power  that  flung  their  levin  from 
the  Palatine?  Could  he,  who  had  learned 
to  love  innocence  and  purity,  love  also 
the  foul  harpy  which  Rome  had  become? 
It  seemed  to  him  difficult  to  reconcile  the 
love  of  Arria  and  the  love  of  Rome.  Was 
the  time  not,  indeed,  overdue  when  the 
wicked  should  tremble  and  the  proud 
should  bow  themselves,  according  to  that 
song  of  the  slave-girl  ? 

From  Antioch  they  turned  southward, 
129 


passing  the  cloistered  plain  paved  with 
polished  marble,  and  hurried  to  Damascus. 
Thence  they  rode  to  Jerusalem.  The  troop 
had  dwindled  to  a  squad  of  six,  and  came 
slowly  into  the  ancient  capital  at  dawn. 
From  afar  they  could  hear  bugles  at  the 
castle  of  Antonia. 

"They  are. changing  the  guard,"  Manius 
remarked. 

Having  entered  the  city  gates,  they  passed 
throngs  of  cattle  and  their  drivers  and  many 
worshippers  hurrying  to  the  temple.  One 
of  the  latter  stopped,  and,  pointing  to  the 
eagles  and  the  medallion  of  Augustus  on 
their  signa,  shouted  loudly : 

"  I  thank  Thee,  O  God,  and  the  God  of 
my  fathers,  that  I  am  not  of  them  who 
provoke  Thine  anger  with  the  graven 
image." 

A  chant  of  many  voices  from  the  temple 
roof  floated  over  the  plain,  saying: 

"The  light  has  come  as  far  as  Hebron." 

Vergilius  turned,  looking  up  at  the  splen- 
did Doric  temple  of  Jerusalem.  As  he 
130 


looked,  the  sun's  rays  fell  on  a  great,  golden 
lantern  before  a  thicket  of  high  columns  in 
its  eastern  portico.  It  was  the  signal  for 
another  outburst  of  trumpets. 

"They  are  now  making  incense  for  the 
nostrils  of  Jehovah,"  said  Manius.  "Soon 
they  will  offer  him  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
lambs  in  Judea." 

In  a  few  moments  they  drew  up  at  the 
castle  of  Antonia.  News  of  their  coming 
had  reached  Jerusalem  by  courier,  three 
days  before.  The  captain  of  the  guard  re- 
peated part  of  the  introduction. 

"  Vergilius,  son  of  Varro,  sent  by  the  great 
father?"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  inquiry. 

"And  worn  with  much  riding,"  said  the 
young  knight. 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you.  It  is  from  the 
king." 

"  He  would  see  me  at  once,"  said  Ver- 
gilius, having  read  it. 

"The  sooner  you  go  the  more  gracious 
you  will  be  like  to  find  him,"  said  Manius, 
with  a  smile. 


"  My  apparel!  It  is  on  the  transport  and 
has  not  yet  arrived." 

"But  you  have  arrived,  and  forget  not 
you  are  in  the  land  of  Herod — a  most  im- 
patient king." 

"  He  will  not  know,  however,  that  we  have 
come,"  Vergilius  answered. 

"Friend  of  Caesar,"  said  the  captain  of 
the  guard,  "  within  an  hour  he  will  know 
everything  you  have  done  since  you  entered 
the  city — whither  you  went,  to  whom  you 
spoke,  and  what  you  said,  and  perhaps 
even  what  vou  thought." 


KTiac    i«    i..g    TSt    mi   i 


characters  of  Herod  and 
Augustus  were  as  far  apart 
as  their  capitals.  Extremes 
of  temperament  were  in 
these  two.  The  Roman  was 
cold,  calm,  of  unfailing  pru- 
dence ;  the  Jew  hot-blooded, 
reckless,  and  warmed  by  a  word  into  startling 
and  frank  ferocity.  The  one  was  keen  and 
delicate,  the  other  blunt  and  robust.  The 
emperor  was  a  fox,  the  king  a  lion.  Herod 
and  his  people  were  now  worried  with 
mutual  distrust.  He  had  no  faith  in  any 
man,  and  no  man  —  not  even  the  emperor 
by  whose  sufferance  he  held  the  crown  — 
had  any  faith  in  him.  The  king  feared 


the  people  and  the  people  feared  the 
king. 

Herod  began  his  career  with  good  pur- 
poses. An  erect,  powerful,  and  handsome 
youth  of  Arabic  and  Idumaean  blood,  brave 
with  lance  and  charger,  he  raided  the  ban- 
dit chieftain  Hezekias  and  slew  him,  with 
all  his  followers.  The  Sanhedrim  thought 
not  of  his  valor  but  only  of  the  ancient  law 
he  had  broken.  They  put  him  on  trial  for 
usurping  the  power  of  life  and  death.  In 
the  midst  of  his  peril  he  escaped,  taking  with 
him  the  seed  of  those  dark  revenges  which, 
when  he  got  the  crown,  destroyed  all  save 
a  single  member  of  the  old  court  of  justice 
and  the  confidence  of  his  people. 

His  household  became  the  scene  of  bloody 
intrigues  which  even  stirred  the  tongue  of 
Caesar  with  contempt.  Herod  became  the 
dupe  of  a  designing  sister,  of  base  flatterers, 
and  of  an  evil  and  ambitious  son.  They 
undermined  his  confidence  in  all  who  de- 
served it.  His  beloved  wife  Mariamne,  his 
two  sons  Alexander  and  Aristobulus,  and 
134 


™ 

many  others  of  exceptional  good  repute  in 
the  kingdom  were  unjustly  put  to  death. 
Then,  swiftly,  as  he  penetrated  the  maze 
of  plot  and  counterplot,  those  who  had  fooled 
him  began  to  fall  before  his  wrath.  He  was 
now,  indeed,  a  forlorn,  loveless,  and  terrible 
creature. 

Many  thought  him  afflicted  with  mad- 
ness. There  were  noble  folk  in  Jerusalem 
who  said  they  had  seen  the  body  of  Mari- 
amne  embalmed  in  honey,  above  the 
king's  chamber,  where  every  day  he  could 
look  upon  it.  Some  had  seen  him  wander- 
ing about  the  palace  at  night  with  a  candle, 
mourning  over  his  loss  and  raging  at  his  own 
folly.  Some  had  seen  him  so  shaken  by 
remorse  that  he  roared  like  a  lion  goaded 
by  hunger  and  the  lance.  At  such  a  time  it 
was,  indeed,  a  peril  to  come  before  him. 
Plots  against  his  life  had  worried  him,  and, 
distrusting  his  helpers,  he  was  wont  to  go 
about  the  city  in  disguise  seeking  informa- 
tion. Twice  he  had  forgiven  Antipater,  his 
favorite  son,  for  crimes  in  the  royal  household. 
135 


Brrutlins 

* 
>>.-,•".'.>  \:      • ..."    :  •.;'  <v.\c 

was,  indeed,  sorely  pressed  with  trouble, 
V-.;x.\  •".-....>:•-.:  ..•:::-.-.-.-:  ..  •/./:  :Vr.-y..;..iXe 
and  far-reaching.  Its  object  was,  in  part* 
dear  to  kirn,  or  so  he  thought,  and  with 
some  reason...  It  smntd  to  aim  at  his 
removal  and  the  crowning  of  a  mysterious 
king  of  prophecy,  who.  many  said*  was  now 
waiting  the  death  of  Herod,  It  baffled  him. 
He  saw  signs  that  many  had  their  heads 
together  in  this  plot.  So  far,  however,  he 

'-..  _  ::   :  '.  _::  ..'.  '.-;  ::  '...\    :v.::.:<  .:.\":  :::-:v. 

There  were  many  theories  about  the  new 
king.  They  were  strange  and  conflicting 
and  xealoosly  pot  forth.  They  differed  as 

:     •   '-.-.:    .-  :-.   v  -re  yc:  V  -~;  .-:.:  ..<  :.-  :v.s 
divinity,  his  character,  and  his  purposes. 
The  Sanhedrim  held  that  when  he  came 
into  the  world  there  would  be  certain  signs 
and  portents  seen  of  all  men.     This  conflict 
of  authority  increased   the  confusion  of 
Herod.    When  VergiHus  came  to  his  ca 
::-;  k/-.;  v.v.>  -:v_r-.:  .  ::  :;.;  v.  ry  ,.--  .  ;  :;- 
great  mystery. 

136 


Power*  of  d3rkne**  ruled  the  city  of  Jem* 
salem,  The  sword,  the  knee,  the  dagger, 
an4  the  wheel  were  wreaking  vengeance 
and  creating  new  peril*  wMle  they  were 
removing  old  one*,  The  king  had  tried 
vainly  to  repair  the  pant,  He  gave  freely 
to  the  poor;  he  erected  gorgeou*  place*  of 
amusement;  he  built  the  new  temple 
and  a  great  palace  in  the  upper  city. 
The  splendor  of  the  latter  structure*  had 
outdone  the  imperator.  No  fhape  born 
"f  barbaric  dreamt,  to  be  slowly  spread 
upon  the  earth  in  marble  and  gold,  had  so 
taxed  the  cunning  and  the  patience  of 
hands.  Such,  in  brief,  were  the 
.v.-ixrr,  the  troubles,  the  home,  and  the 

<  It./ 


N  travel-worn  garb  Vergilius 
went  early  to  see  the  king. 
•Accustomed  to  the  grandeur 
of  Rome  itself,  he  yet  saw 
with  astonishment  the  beau- 
tiful groves,  the  lakes,  canals, 
and  fountains  sparkling  in 
the  sunlight  which  surrounded  the  great 
marble  palace  of  Herod.  In  the  shadow  of 
its  many  towers,  each  thirty  cubits  high, 
Vergilius  began  to  feel  some  dread  of  this  ter- 
rible king.  At  least  fifty  paces  from  the  door 
of  his  chamber,  in  the  great  hall  above- 
stairs,  he  could  hear  the  growl  of  the  old  lion. 
In  Herod  was  the  voice  of  wrath  and  revenge 
and  terror.  His  words  came  rolling  out  in 
138 


Hrrgiltwa 

a  deep,  husky,  guttural  tone,  or  leaped 
forth  hissing  with  anger.  Some  officials 
stood  by  the  king's  door  with  fear  and 
dread  upon  their  faces.  A  young  woman 
of  singular  beauty  was  among  them. 

"O  Salome,  daughter  of  Herod,"  said 
one,  "the  king  would  have  you  come  to- 
morrow. He  is  in  ill  humor  with  the 
plotters." 

"And  I  with  him,"  said  she,  stamping 
her  foot. 

An  usher  had  presented  Vergilius  at  the 
door.  As  Herod's  daughter  proudly  turned 
away,  she  came  face  to  face  with  the  young 
Roman  noble.  For  one  moment  their  eyes 
held  each  other.  A  chamberlain  approach- 
ed Vergilius,  whispered  a  few  inquiries,  and 
then  led  him  before  the  king.  Herod  was 
having  a  bad  day. 

"Traitors!"  he  hissed.  In  a  voice  like 
the  menacing  growl  of  a  savage  beast  he 
added:  " May  their  eyes  rot  in  their  heads! 
Go!  I  have  heard  enough,  bearer  of  evil 
tidings." 

139 


Far  down  the  great  chamber  in  which 
half  a  cohort  could  have  stood  comfortably, 
in  a  carved  chair  on  a  dais,  under  a  vault 
and  against  a  background  of  blue,  Baby- 
lonian tapestry,  sat  the  king.  A  priest  had 
bowed  low  and  was  now  leaving  his  presence. 
The  chamberlain  announced,  in  a  loud  voice, 
"Vergilius,  son  of  Varro,  of  Rome,  and 
officer  of  the  fatherly  and  much-beloved 
Gaius  Julius  Caesar  Octavianus  Augustus." 

The  king  sat  erect,  a  purple  tarboosh  and 
crown  of  wrought  gold  upon  his  head.  As 
Vergilius  approached,  the  dark,  suspicious 
eyes  of  Herod  were  surveying  him  from 
under  long,  quivering  tufts  of  gray  hair. 
His  great  body,  in  its  prime,  must  have 
been  like  that  of  Achilles. 

"  Stand  where  you  are,  son  of  Varro,"  said 
the  king,  as  he  moved  nervously.  His 
broad  shoulders  were  beginning  to  bend  a 
little  under  their  burden  of  trouble  and 
disease.  The  harrow  of  pain  and  passion 
had  roughened  his  face  with  wrinkles.  His 
manner  was  alert  and  watchful. 
140 


"Have  you  seen  my  son?"  he  inquired, 
quickly. 

"Yes,  great  sire,  and  he  was  well." 

"And  is  he  not  comely?" 

"Ay,  and  brave  with  his  lance." 

"And  a  bom  king,"  said  Herod.  "I 
have  fixed  my  heart  upon  him.  I  have  no 
other  to  love — but  the  great  imperator. 
And  how  is  he?" 

"  I  left  him  well,  good  sire." 

"  Stand  a  moment,  son  of  Varro,"  said  the 
king,  with  an  impatient  gesture.  An  at- 
tendant approached  him  and  spoke  in  a 
low  tone.  Herod  snarled  like  a  huge  cat 
when  the  lance  threatens. 

"Break  him  on  the  rack,"  he  muttered; 
"  and  unless  he  tell,  crucify  him  —  cru- 
cify him.  He  shall  do  me  no  further 
injury.  That  priest  Lugar,  bring  him 
back  to  me.  Quickly  now,  bring  him  to 
me!" 

The  attendant  hurried   away,   soon  re- 
turning with  him  who  had  retired  as  Ver- 
gilius  entered  the  king's  chamber. 
141 


"  Saw  you  the  men  of  learning  in  Asca- 
lon?"  the  king  demanded. 

"I  did." 

"What  said  they?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

"Out  with  it,"  said  the  king,  fiercely. 
"Must  I  put  every  man  upon  the  rack? 
Speak,  and  that  you  may  tell  the  truth  I 
shall  not  demand  their  names." 

"They,  also,  look  for  the  new  king,"  said 
Lugar.  "  Many  believe  he  is  already  born. 
They  say  that  on  your  death  he  will  declare 
himself." 

"And  they,  too,  pray  for  my  death?" 

"Most  earnestly,  my  beloved  king." 

"Traitors!"  said  Herod,  and  as  he  spoke 
his  powerful  hands  were  tearing  his  ker- 
chief into  rags.  "I  shall  soon  change  the 
burden  of  their  prayers.  Go  tell  them  this : 
the  day  I  die  two  of  the  wisest  men  from 
every  city  in  the  kingdom  shall  die  also. 
Go  everywhere,  and  tell  these  learned  doc- 
tors they  had  best  pray  for  my  good 
health." 

142 


The  priest  bowed  before  his  king  and 
retired.  The  pagan  noble  looked  up  at 
this  ruler  of  the  land  of  the  one  God  and 
felt  a  thrill  of  horror.  Herod,  turning 
quickly,  beckoned  to  the  young  knight,  his 
wrinkles  quivering  with  anger.  Now,  in- 
deed, he  was  like  a  lion  at  bay. 

"Ha-a!"  he  roared,  and  his  head  bent 
slowly  and  his  voice  fell  to  a  low  rumble  as 
he  continued.  "  'Tis  an  evil  time  in  Jeru- 
salem. I  weary  of  this  long  fight  with 
traitors.  They  grind  their  points;  they 
stir  poison;  they  swarm  in  the  streets. 
They  rob  me  of  my  friends,  and  now — now 
they  seek  alliance  with  Jehovah  to  rob  me 
of  my  throne.  'Tis  well  you  should  know 
and  beware.  I  have  a  plan  which  will  make 
them  desire  my  good  health.  Report  to 
Quirinus,  and  remember" — he  took  a  hand 
of  the  youth  in  both  of  his  with  a  fawning 
movement — "  I  have  need  of  friends." 

That  very  day  an  order  went  forth  that 
certain  of  the  learned  men  of  every  city  be 
assembled  in  the  amphitheatre  at  Jericho, 
143 


and  be  there  confined  to  wait  the  further 
pleasure  of  the  king.  It  was  a  bold  plan 
through  which  Herod  hoped  to  confound 
his  enemies  and  insure  his  safety.  He 
decreed  that  on  the  day  of  his  death  all 
these  men  should  be  executed. 


L 


J 


[MONO  the  orderlies  at  the 
castle  was  one  David,  a 
young  Jew,  whose  face  and 
bearing  had  attracted  the 
eye  of  Vergilius.  There 
was  in  both  something 
admirable  and  familiar. 
Straightway  the  tribune  chose  the  young 
Jew  for  his  own  service,  and  soon  held 
him  in  high  esteem.  Together  they  set 
out  one  morning,  with  a  troop  of  horse, 
bound  for  the  southern  limit  of  Samaria. 
Thus  quickly  orders  had  arrived  from  the 
emperor.  They  sent  Vergilius  on  a  journey 
to  inspect  roads  and  report  "as  to  hopes, 
plans,  and  theories  of  import  to  the  king." 
145 


That  morning  as  they  left  the  old  city, 
Vergilius  and  the  young  Jew  rode  abreast. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  former,  presently, 
"what  know  you  of  the  new  king?" 

"  Of  him  I  have  thought  much  and  know 
little,"  said  David.  "My  mother  taught 
me  to  look  for  him.  That  was  before  the 
evil  days." 

"And  you  learned  what  of  her?" 

"Little  save  the  long  hope.  She  taught 
me  an  old  chant  of  the  coming.  If  you 
wish,  I  will  sing  it." 

Being  bidden,  he  sang,  as  she  had  sung 
who  hushed  the  revels  of  Antipater,  of 
signs  and  fears  and  of  arrows  to  fly  as  the 
lightning.  Words,  melody,  emotion,  the 
note  of  inveterate  wrong,  were  those  of  the 
slave-girl. 

"The  same  nose  and  blue  eyes,  and  fair, 
curly  locks — the  same  feeling  and  chant  of 
faith,"  said  Vergilius,  thoughtfully.  "Did 
you  not  live  in  Galilee  and  suffer  ill  fortune  ?" 

"We  lived  in  Galilee,   and,   by-and-by, 
were  as  those  hurled  into  Gehenna." 
146 


"And  have  you  a  sister  in  Rome?" 

"  I  have  a  sister,  but  know  not  where  she 
may  be.  Cyran  the  Beloved,  so  my  mother 
called  her." 

Then  Vergilius  told  his  companion  how 
he  had  won  her  from  the  son  of  Herod  and 
left  her  in  the  keeping  of  Arria.  David 
wept  as  he  listened. 

When  the  tale  was  finished  he  spoke 
bitterly:  "  'Twas  she  —  the  Beloved.  My 
father  was  put  to  death,  his  property  seized, 
his  wife  and  children  dragged  to  captivity. 
My  heart  is  faint  with  sorrow.  God!  I 
weary  of  thy  slowness. 

"  Send,  quickly  send  the  new  king,  whose  arrows 

shall  fly  as  the  lightning, 

Making  the  mighty  afraid  and  the  proud  to  bow 
low  and  the  wicked  to  tremble." 

For  a  moment  they  rode  in  silence. 
David  was  first  to  speak. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  he,  with  fear  of  his 
imprudence.  "My  tongue  has  gone  too 
far.  I  am  true  to  Herod,  being  his  debtor, 


for  he  gave  me  freedom.     But  I  am  of  the 
house  of  David." 

' '  Fear  not, ' '  said  Vergilius.  ' '  Never  shall 
I  betray  the  broken  hearted.  I  give  you 
friendship." 

''And  I  give  you  gratitude,"  was  the 
answer  of  the  Jew. 

"I  am  as  a  child  here  in  Judea  and  seek 
understanding.  You  shall  be  my  teacher." 

For  a  time  neither  spoke  ;  soon  David 
asked:  "Will  you  tell  me  of  her  my  sister 
is  now  serving?" 

"Of  all  the  daughters  of  Rome  she  is 
noblest.  We  love  each  other.  Ah,  friend! 
'Tis  a  wonder — this  great  love.  My  tongue 
halts  when  I  think  of  it." 

He  paused,  in  meditation. 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  it  here  in  Judea — 
a  love  that  exalts  the  soul,"  said  David. 

"And  changes  the  heart  of  man  with  all 
that  is  in  it.  My  love  has  filled  me  with  a 
tender  feeling  for  all  women;  it  has  made 
me  to  hate  injustice  and  even  to  complain 
of  the  gods." 

148 


"To  complain  of  the  gods!"  said  David, 
turning  and  looking  into  the  face  of  his 
friend. 

"It  does  seem  to  me  they  set  a  bad 
example  and  are  too  childish  for  the  work 
they  have  to  do,  but  still — still  I  bow  before 
them." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  David. 

"They  are  given  to  spite,  anger,  vanity, 
lust,  revenge,  and  idleness.  Caesar  is  greater 
than  they.  He  has  learned  self-control. 
And  this  new  king  of  your  faith,  who,  you 
tell  me,  is  to  conquer  the  world — he  is  no 
better." 

"And  why  think  you  so?" 

"  He  is  to  conquer  the  world.  Good  sir, 
it  has  been  conquered — how  many  times! 
He  shall  make  the  mighty  afraid — have  they 
not  often  trembled  with  fear  and  perished 
by  the  sword  ?  He  shall  fling  arrows  of  just 
revenge,  as  if  our  old  earth  were  not  al- 
ready soaked  in  the  blood  of  the  wicked. 
Ah,  my  David,  I  wonder  not  you  long  for  a 
king  of  the  sword  and  the  arrow.  Revenge 
149 


is  ever  the  dream  of  the  oppressed.  But 
I  have  dreamed  of  a  greater  king." 

"Tell  me  who?" 

"He  would  be  like  this  love  in  me,"  said 
Vergilius.  "If  it  were  to  go  abroad — 
if  it  were  only  to  find  the  hearts  of  the 
mighty — what,  think  you,  would  happen?" 

"Ay,  if  it  were  to  go  from  friend  to 
friend  and  from  neighbor  to  neighbor,"  said 
the  young  Jew,  "it  would  indeed  conquer 
the  world." 

"And  there  would  be  neither  war  nor 
injustice." 

"Tell  me,"  said  David.  "Are  there 
many  lovers  like  you  in  Rome?" 

"  Some  half  a  score  that  I  have  heard  of, 
and  I  doubt  not  there  be  many." 

'  'Tis  the  candle  of  the  Lord — the  prep- 
aration of  the  heart  of  man,"  said  David. 
"I  do  believe  his  arrow  shall  be  that  of 
love." 

"This  feeling  in  me  has  kindled  a  great 
desire,"  said  Vergilius.  "  I  burn  for  knowl- 
edge." 

150 


Then  said  the  young  Jew:  "Let  us 
find  my  kinsman,  Zacharias — a  priest  of 
holy  life  and  great  learning.  Through  his 
aged  wife  a  miracle  has  been  accomplished. 
I  learn  that  she  has  given  birth,  and  many 
have  journeyed  far  to  see  the  child.  There 
be  some  who  say  that  he  is,  indeed,  the  king 
of  promise,  albeit  I  have  no  such  opinion." 

"Why?" 

"There  shall  be  signs  in  the  deep  of  the 
heavens,  and  we  have  not  seen  them." 

"Where  may  we  find  the  priest?" 

"In  the  village  of  Ain  Karim,  yonder." 

They  could  see  its  low  dwellings  and  the 
dome  of  its  synagogue.  The  Roman  halted 
near  the  abode  of  Zacharias,  while  David 
took  their  followers  to  the  inn.  Suddenly 
the  young  Roman  saw  an  aged  priest  ap- 
proaching with  a  child  in  his  arms. 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you,"  said  the  man 
of  God,  stopping  near  the  Roman  officer. 

"And  I  seek  it,"  said  Vergilius,  looking 
at  the  long,  gray  beard  of  the  venerable 
priest. 


"It  is  borne  in  upon  me  to  say  to  you 
that  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand." 

"Tell  me  of  the  king,"  said  Vergilius. 
"I  do  thirst  for  knowledge." 

"He  shall  be  the  prince  of  peace." 

Vergilius  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  old 
priest,  who  now  sat  down  as  if  weary. 

"And  he  shall  conquer  with  the  sword?" 

"  Nay,  but  as  it  is  written, '  he  shall  judge 
among  the  nations  and  shall  rebuke  many 
people;  and  they  shall  beat  their  swords 
into  ploughshares  and  their  spears  into  prun- 
ing-hooks;  nation  shall  not  lift  up  sword 
against  nation,  neither  shall  they  learn  war 
any  more.'" 

Now  the  Roman  was  alert  to  hear.  His 
ideal,  which  had  taken  form  at  the  altar  of 
peace  and  grown  with  his  love,  was  being 
set  up  before  him. 

"  But  the  nations  are  stubborn,"  said  he. 
"Tell  me,  O  wise  and  learned  man,  how 
shall  he  subdue  them?" 

" By  the  love  of  God,  almighty  and  ever- 
lasting." 

152 


"God,  almighty  and  everlasting,"  said 
Vergilius.  "I  know  him  not." 

"I  do  but  defile  myself  to  speak  with 
you,  worshipper  of  idols,"  sternly  spake 
the  priest.  "And  yet  I  am  constrained  to 
instruct  you.  Listen  —  there  is  a  power 
which  even  Rome  has  not  been  able  to 
conquer.  Know  you  what  power  it  is?" 

The  young  tribune  was  recounting  the 
peoples  of  the  earth,  when  Zacharias  con- 
tinued : 

"  Tis  the  God  of  the  Jews.  Rome  has 
conquered  his  people,  but  mark  how  he 
stands.  And  what  is  there  of  wrong  that 
his  law  cannot  remedy  ?  Tell  me,  is  there 
no  injustice  in  your  land?" 

"  There  is  much,"  said  the  young  Roman. 

"And  so  I  know — but  name  it." 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  men  torture  and 
kill  their  slaves." 

"And  in  the  law  of  the  one  God  'tis  writ- 
ten, 'Thou  shalt  not  kill.'" 

After  a  thoughtful  moment  Vergilius  add- 
ed: "And  the  strong  prey  upon  the  weak, 
153 


seizing   their  property  and   holding  it  for 
their  own." 

"And  the  one  God  commands,  'Thou 
shalt  not  steal ' ;  and  again, '  Thou  shalt  not 
covet  thy  neighbor's  house,  thou  shalt  not 
covet  thy  neighbor's  wife,  nor  his  man- 
servant, nor  his  maid-servant,  nor  his 
ox,  nor  his  ass,  nor  anything  that  is  thy 
neighbor's." 

"  But  you  have  injustice,  also,  in  Judea." 

"Ay,  because  there  be  evil  men  who  obey 
not  the  law  of  God.  But  presently  they 
shall  be  put  to  shame.  Here  is  he  that  is 
come  to  prepare  the  way  of  the  Lord." 

The  child  was  now  asleep,  his  head  on  his 
father's  knee. 

"John,"  said  the  priest,  tenderly  looking 
down. 

But  the  little  one  continued  to  sleep,  and 
a  wonderful  peace  and  beauty  had  come 
upon  him. 

"And  this  new  king  —  whence  shall  he 
come  and  how  shall  we  know  him?"  the 
young  Roman  persisted. 
154 


"Conceived  of  God,  he  is  now  in  the 
womb  of  his  mother,"  said  the  priest. 
"Soon — very  soon,  he  shall  enter  the  gate 
of  the  world.  The  ground  is  ready  and  he 
shall  be  like  a  sower,  and  his  seed  shall 
be  love,  and  peace  shall  be  his  harvest.  If 
ye  would  know  him,  behold  this  face." 

He  touched  the  brow  of  the  child.  "  Son 
of  darkness,"  he  continued,  "look  upon  the 
son  of  light!  The  faith  of  Mizraim  or  the 
wisdom  of  Hillel  could  show  you  no  more. 
Do  you  see  the  new  light  shining  within  this 
lovely  veil  of  flesh?  Look,  and  you  shall 
know  the  fashion  of  his  countenance,  and 
that  his  hand  shall  make  no  wound." 

The  priest  rose,  and,  lifting  the  child  in 
his  arms,  went  away,  saying,  "  His  peace  be 
with  you." 

The  young  Roman  stood  looking  at  the 
sweet  face  that  lay  on  the  shoulder  of  him 
departing.  The  great  hope  of  Judea  had 
entered  his  heart  —  the  hope  of  a  just 
king  to  rule  the  nations  and  point  the 
way  to  eternal  life. 


On  his  return  he  bought  a  statue  rep- 
resenting a  beautiful  young  boy.  He  set 
it  up  in  his  chamber,  and,  kneeling,  prayed 
to  it  as  the  one  God  who  forbade  killing 
and  theft  and  every  evil  practice  of  men. 
He  prayed  for  understanding;  he  prayed, 
also,  that  he  might  see  her  he  loved.  But 
this  new  God  seemed  as  deaf  to  his  entreaty 
as  had  been  those  of  the  pagan  temples. 
Groping  for  light,  he  turned  to  the  young 
David.  Then  first  he  learned  that  God,  be- 
ing jealous,  hated  the  image  of  everything 
that  has  the  breath  of  life.  His  understand- 
ing had  diminished,  for,  in  this  matter,  the 
one  God  was  like  the  many.  He  questioned 
the  Jew.  "Wonder  not,"  said  his  friend, 
"that  God  hates  the  symbol  of  ancient 
error.  It  has  been  as  a  cloud  upon  the 
sun." 

Vergilius  had  taken  a  palace  and  filled 
it  with  treasures,  for,  possibly,  he  had 
thought,  some  day  she  would  see  all.  Now 
its  noble  statues  were  sent  away — a  kind  of 
sacrifice  to  the  God  of  the  Jews.  But 
156 


there  was  one  he  could  not  part  with — a 
copy  of  the  lovely  Venus  of  Alcamenes 
which  his  mother  had  sent  to  him.  He 
concealed  her  in  a  closet,  contenting  him- 
self with  a  furtive  glance  at  her  now  and 
then.  He  set  up  in  his  fancy  a  giant  of 
benevolent  face,  and  humbly  sought  his 
favor.  Still  he  had  no  success. 

Lying  at  table  one  night  with  Manius  and 
Ben  Joreb,  he  sought  counsel  of  the  latter. 

"He  that  hath  his  prayer  hath  prayed 
wisely,"  said  the  priest.  "You  have  much 
to  learn." 

"  How,  and  of  whom?"  said  Vergilius. 

"  There  is  in  Jerusalem  a  council  of  learn- 
ed men.  They  expound  the  Scripture  and 
study  all  mysteries  of  the  faith." 

"And  who  are  they?" 

"  I  would  I  knew.  Being  wise,  they  are 
unknown." 

"Unknown!" 

"So  I  have  heard.  They  have  knowl- 
edge of  him  who  is  to  come,  and  Herod  is 
very  jealous." 

157 


"  True,"  said  Vergilius.  "  I  would  I  were 
of  them  who  know." 

"  If  it  may  be  so  you  shall  have  word  to- 
morrow," said  the  priest. 

Promptly  Manius  relieved  the  tension  of 
curiosity. 

"Vergilius,  I  drink  to  you  —  the  new 
commander  of  the  cohorts,"  said  he,  rising. 

"  I  reserve  my  thanks  for  more  informa- 
tion," said  Vergilius. 

"  It  will  come,"  said  Manius,  who  then  left 
with  the  priest  in  his  company. 

Soon  the  former  added,  in  a  low  tone: 
"  He  may  be  of  some  value  before  he  dies." 

"Ah,  yes,  but  he  will  die  young,"  said  the 
other. 


EXT  day  among  his  letters 
were  two  of  value  in  the 
history  of  Vergilius  —  one 
from  the  procurator,  ap- 
prising him  of  his  appoint- 
ment to  command  the 
cohorts,  the  other  a  com- 
munication with  no  signature,  the  source 
of  which  was,  in  his  view,  quite  apparent. 
This  latter  one  gave  him  the  greater  satis- 
faction. It  conveyed,  in  formal  script,  the 
following  message: 

"To  ONE  SEEKING  WISDOM  IN  PRAYER 

"If  you  would  share  in  the  deliberations  of 
the  Council  of  the  Covenant,  be  at  the  well  of 
Nicanor,  which  is  opposite  the  tenth  column  in 

159 


Hergtltus 

the  king's  portico  of  the  temple,  at  the  second 
sounding  of  the  sacred  horns  on  the  Day  of  Atone- 
ment. There  wait  until  one  shall  come  and  ask 
what  you  are  seeking,  and  you  shall  answer, 
'Knowledge  of  the  one  God.'  Then,  if  he  turns 
away,  follow  him  and  do  as  he  bids  you." 

His  opportunity  had  come.  He  waited 
with  the  curiosity  of  a  child.  Soon,  pos- 
sibly, he  should  see  the  face  of  the  great 
Lawgiver  and  learn  of  things  beyond  the 
valley  of  death.  If  all  went  well  he  would 
amaze  the  people  of  Rome  with  wonder 
stories  and  give  them  assurance  of  im- 
mortal life. 

The  city  had  been  thronged  with  pilgrims 
that  day  of  the  ancient  festival.  It  was 
turning  dusk  when  Vergilius  made  his  way 
through  crowded  streets  to  *the  well  of 
Nicanor.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  trumpet 
signal,  and  then  followed  that  moment  of 
silence  when  every  tongue  and  foot  and 
wheel  stopped,  quickly,  and  all  stood  listen- 
ing for  the  awful  name  spoken  but  once  a 
year. 

Presently  the  shout  of  the  high  priest 
160 


rang  like  a  trumpet  -  peal  above  the  roofs 
of  the  city.  Then  Jerusalem  was  all  be- 
girt and  overflooded  with  song.  Maidens, 
white  robed,  were  singing  in  distant  vine- 
yards; people  were  singing  in  the  streets; 
trained  devotees  were  whirling  and  dancing 
and  chanting  psalms  in  the  court  of  the 
Temple,  while  priest  and  Levite  followed, 
blowing,  with  all  their  power  of  lung,  upon 
the"  sacred  horns. 

In  the  midst  of  this  outbreak  a  stranger 
approached  Vergilius  at  the  well,  saying, 
"What  seek  you?"  The  young  Roman 
gave  his  answer,  but  was  unable  to  see  the 
face  of  him  who  questioned.  The  stranger 
turned  away  and  bade  him  follow.  With- 
out more  ceremony  Vergilius  walked  be- 
hind him  through  narrow  streets,  wholly 
unfamiliar,  and  presently  descending  a 
stairway,  came  into  a  dark  passage.  They 
halted,  after  a  few  paces,  whereupon  a  loud 
rap  startled  the  new-comer.  Soon  he  could 
hear  a  door  open.  The  stranger,  taking  his 
hand,  led  him  into  some  dark  place.  It 
161 


was  all  very  strange,  and  like  tales  long 
familiar,  relating  to  the  city  of  mysteries. 
Standing  there  in  the  dark  and  silence,  he 
had  some  misgivings  which  gave  way  when 
a  voice  addressed  him  as  follows: 

"You  are  now  in  the  council-chamber  of 
the  Covenant.  We  meet  in  darkness,  so 
that  no  shape  or  form  or  image  may  turn 
our  thought  from  the  contemplation  of  him 
who  is  most  high  and  who  hath  his  dwell- 
ing in  black  darkness.  Moreover,  those 
who  are  not  seen  shall  have  neither  vanity 
nor  the  will  to  deceive.  Would  you  share 
in  our  deliberations?" 

Vergilius  answered  yes,  and  one  of  the 
council  then  took  his  hand  and  adminis- 
tered the  oath  of  secrecy,  and  led  him  to 
what  seemed  to  be  a  large  divan,  where  he 
sat,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  between  other 
members  of  the  council.  He  listened  long 
to  the  casuistry  of  learned  men  touching 
prayer,  atonement,  and  sacrifice.  It  led  at 
last  to  some  discussion  of  the  new  king. 

"  Is  there  one  here  can  tell  me  where  and 


when  he  shall  be  born?"  was  the  query  of 
Vergilius. 

"  We  believe  the  Messiah  is  already  born," 
said  a  councillor.  "Moreover,  some  here 
have  beheld  his  face." 

"And  where,  then,  does  he  dwell?"  Ver- 
gilius inquired. 

"That  you  shall  know  some  day.  At 
the  next  meeting  of  the  council  it  may  be 
told.  We  wait  only  for  the  fulness  of 
time.  He  dwells  in  a  distant  city,  and  not 
long  ago  I  spoke  with  him.  He  sent  his 
love  and  greeting  to  every  member  of  our 
council.  He  bids  you  wait  his  time,  when 
all  your  prayers  shall  be  answered." 

"  Shall  there  be  signs  of  his  coming  ?"  So 
spoke  Vergilius. 

"  There  shall  be  signs,  and  you  shall  hear 
of  them  in  this  chamber." 

"And  what  shall  be  the  aim  of  the  king  ?" 

"To  establish  the  reign  of  justice." 

Vergilius  queried  much  regarding'the  gov- 
ernment of  the  new  king,  and  got  replies  add- 
ing more  to  his  curiosity  than  to  his  knowledge. 
163 


It  was  near  the  middle  hour  of  the 
night  when  a  voice  announced :  "  The  keep- 
er of  the  new  door  will  now  leave  the 
council." 

Vergilius  heard  a  stir  coming  near  him 
in  the  darkness.  Hands  were  laid  upon 
him,  and,  presently,  one  took  his  arm.  and 
led  him  away.  The  two  climbed  a  long 
flight  of  stairs  and  made  hastily  across  a 
broad  roof.  At  a  railed  opening  they  came 
to  other  stairs,  and,  descending,  entered  a 
passage,  dark  as  had  been  the  chamber. 
At  its  end  the  Roman  received  a  password. 
Then  a  door  swung  and  again  he  was  on  the 
pavements  of  Jerusalem,  and,  far  away, 
could  see  the  lights  of  Temple  Hill. 

His  conductor,  returning,  announced  the 
departure  of  "the  new  voice." 

"We  will  now  hear  from  the  keeper  of 
records,"  said  one. 

A  voice  quickly  answered:  "He  secured 
a  lock  of  his  hair." 

"And  what  says  the  keeper  of  the  hidden 
light?" 

164 


Then  said  another  voice:  "He  now  sees 
but  one  obstacle." 

"And  what  says  the  Angel  of  Death?" 

A  low,  deep  tone  broke  the  silence  in  which 
all  waited.  "The  sixth  day  before  the  kal- 
ends, he  shall  claim  his  own,"  so  it  answered. 

"Enough,"  said  the  questioner.  "The 
ways  lead  to  safety.  I  bid  you  go." 

One  by  one  the  councillors  began  to 
leave.  There  was  no  treading  upon  heels, 
for  one  was  well  out  of  the  way  before  an- 
other was  allowed  to  go.  So  cunningly  was 
their  room  devised  that  half  the  exits  led  to 
one  thoroughfare  and  half  to  another;  and 
so  many  were  they,  it  was  said,  no  more  than 
two  councillors  came  or  went  by  the  same 
door.  And  of  all  who  came,  so  say  the  rec- 
ords, not  one  knew  another  to  be  sure  of  him. 


'OR  the  king  there  were 
three  great  perils:  the  peo- 
ple, Caesar,  and  his  own 
family.  The  descendant  of 
old  John  Hyrcanus  of 
Idumaea  —  a  Jew  only  by 
compulsion  —  had  no  un- 
derstanding of  the  children  of  Moses.  He 
tripped  every  day  on  the  barriers  of  an- 
cient law,  and  often  his  generosity  was 
taken  for  defiance.  Caesar  was  not  so 
hard  to  please.  He  had  vanity  and  laws 
not  wholly  inflexible.  Herod's  family, 
with  its  evil  sister,  its  profligate  sons, 
its  voluptuous  daughters,  its  wives,  of 
whom  it  is  enough  to  say  they  were  nine, 
166 


its  intrigues  and  jealousies,  gave  him 
greater  trouble  than  either  the  kingdom 
or  the  emperor.  He  built  a  city  near 
Jerusalem,  on  the  sea.  Magnificent  in 
marble  and  gold,  Caesarea  stood  for  a 
monument  of  Herodian  troubles.  Therein 
he  sought  to  amuse  the  people,  to  pacify 
his  kindred,  and  to  flatter  Caesar.  Its  vast 
breakwater;  its  great  arches  through  which 
the  sea  came  gently  in  all  weather;  its 
mosaic  pavements  washed  daily  by  the  salt 
tide ;  its  palaces  of  white  marble ;  its  great, 
glowing  amphitheatre — these  were  unique 
in  their  barbaric  splendor,  albeit,  in  the 
view  of  the  people,  an  offence  to  God. 

Among  those  who  dwelt  in  Caesarea  was 
Elpis,  eighth  wife  of  the  king,  with  her 
daughter  Salome,  whose  praises  had  been 
sung  at  the  banquet  of  Antipater.  Both 
were  renowned  for  beauty  and  the  splendor 
of  their  dress.  Salome  had  the  colors  of  the 
far  north,  and  that  perfect  and  voluptuous 
contour  found  only  in  marble  figures  of 
Venus,  above  the  great  purple  sea,  and, 
167 


below  it,  in  the  daughters  of  men.  She  was 
tall,  shapely,  full  blooded.  They  called  her 
Salome,  child  of  the  sun,  because  she  had 
the  dark  of  night  in  her  large  eyes,  the 
tints  of  morning  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  gold 
of  noonday  in  her  hair. 

When  Manius  came  to  seek  her  hand  the 
king  said,  with  a  smile:  "My  noble  youth, 
she  is  for  the  like  of  Achilles — a  man  of 
heroic  heart  and  size.  Have  you  no  fear  of 
her?" 

Quickly  Manius  replied :  "  Know  you  not, 
O  king!  my  fathers  fought  with  Achilles?" 

"But  they  had  the  protection  of  the 
gods,"  said  Herod,  with  a  smile.  "How- 
ever, you  may  find  her  favor  sufficient.  I 
have  heard  her  speak  fair  of  you." 

Now  a  quarrel  had  arisen  between  Elpis 
and  a  sister  of  Herod.  So,  therefore,  to 
calm  a  tempest,  the  adroit  king  had  sent  his 
eighth  wife  to  live  by  the  sea. 

It  was  a  day  near  the  nones  of  October, 
when  the  tribune  went  to  Caesarea  with 
Manius.  There  in  a  great  palace,  erected  by 
168 


the  king,  they  met  the  two  renowned  women. 
It  was  a  fete  day  and  the  gay  people  of 
Herod's  court  were  in  attendance.  Salome 
was  dancing,  tabret  in  hand,  her  form  show- 
ing through  a  robe  of  transparent  silk  as  the 
two  entered.  Once  before,  at  the  door  of 
the  king,  Vergilius  had  seen  her. 

"See  the  taper  of  arm  and  leg,"  said 
he,  addressing  his  companion.  "She  is 
wonderful!" 

A  lithe  and  beautiful  creature,  she  swayed 
and  bent,  with  arms  extended,  her  feet, 
now  slow  as  the  pinions  of  a  sailing  hawk, 
now  swift  as  the  wings  of  a  tilting  sparrow. 
She  stopped  suddenly,  her  form  proudly 
erect,  looking  at  her  lover.  Now  she  had 
the  dignity  of  a  wild  deer  in  the  barrens. 
With  one  hand  she  felt  her  jewelled  hair, 
with  the  other  she  beckoned  to  him.  The 
young  men  approached  her. 

"Children  of  ^Eneas,  I  give  you  wel- 
come," said  she.  Then  turning  to  Vergil- 
ius: "Did  Manius  tell  you  that  I  bade 
him  bring  you  here?" 

ia  169 


"I  knew  not  I  was  so  honored." 

"  He  is  jealous.  He  will  not  permit  me 
to  embrace  my  little  page.  I  have  wished 
to  meet  you,  noble  tribune,  ever  since  I 
saw  you  in  my  father's  palace." 

Her  eyes  were  playful,  as  if  they  would 
try  the  heart  of  her  lover. 

"And  when  I  saw  you,"  said  Vergilius, 
"  I — I  knew  you  were  the  betrothed  of  the 
assessor." 

"And  why?"  she  besought,  with  a  smile. 

"  Because  I  heard  him  say  in  Rome  that, 
of  all  the  daughters  of  Judea,  you  were 
most  beautiful." 

Her  eyes  looked  full  upon  his  and  he  saw 
in  them  a  glint  of  that  fire  which  had  begun 
to  burn  within  her.  He  said  to  himself,  as 
he  came  away,  "  Here  is  another  Cleopatra 
— a  woman  made  to  pull  down  the  mighty." 

Next  day  from  the  daughter  of  Herod 
came  a  letter  to  the  young  tribune: 

"  NOBLE  SON  OF  VARRO, — I  have  much  to  say 
concerning  your  welfare,  and  I  doxxbt  not  you 
will  desire  to  hear  it.     If  I  judge  you  rightly, 
170 


come  to  the  palace  of  my  mother  the  second 
evening  before  the  nones.  An  hour  after  sunset 
I  will  meet  you  at  the  gate  of  bronze.  Say 
naught  to  Manius  of  your  coming  or  of  this 
letter." 


"Temptress!"  said  he,  crashing  the  sheet 
of  scented  vellum.  "  But  she  is  beautiful," 
he  added,  wistfully.  "  She  is  like  the  Venus 
of  Alcamenes.  I  would  love  well  to  look 
upon  her  again." 

He  smoothed  out  the  crumpled  vellum. 

" '  Say  naught  to  Manius,'  "  he  read  again. 
"  I  like  it  not.  I  shall  write  to  her  that  I 
have  other  business." 

And  so  did  he,  although  in  phrases  of 
regret,  as  became  one  addressing  a  daughter 
of  the  great  king. 

Sorely  vexed,  she  thought  ever  of  the 
noble  beauty  of  the  Roman  youth,  and 
became  more  eager  to  gain  her  purpose. 
It  may  be  the  girl  bore  for  him  a  better 
feeling  than  she  had  ever  known.  She 
wished,  if  possible,  to  win  him,  knowing  that 
her  father  would  not  be  slow  to  help  him 
171 


forward.  The  handsome  youth  had  pleased 
her  eye  and  might,  also,  gratify  her  ambi- 
tion. Those  days  the  art  of  intrigue  was 
the  study  of  a  king.'s  daughter ;  so,  straight- 
way, she  invented  a  cunning  plan.  Know- 
ing the  great  desire  of  Vergilius,  she  bribed 
the  priest  Lugar  to  give  him  crafty  counsel. 
On  the  very  morning  of  that  second  day 
the  priest  came  to  him. 

"How  fares  your  soul,  noble  tribune?" 
said  Lugar. 

"I  feel  it  strong  in  me,"  said  Vergilius. 

"  And  you  would  know  if  it  be  strong  unto 
salvation  ?" 

"That  would  I  gladly  know." 

"  Come  with  me  this  night  and  you  shall 
see  your  soul  in  the  balance." 

"And  whither  shall  we  go?" 

"To  the  palace  of  Laban,  steward  of  the 
king.  I  shall  come  for  you  soon  after  the 
ninth  hour." 

"And  thereby  increase  my  debt  to  you," 
said  Vergilius.     "Remember  my  soul  may 
not  be  rejected  for  lack  of  gratitude." 
172 


Now  in  that  hour  which  follows  the 
beginning  of  night,  Lugar  and  Vergilius 
were  come  to  the  place  appointed.  Slaves 
led  them  through  a  great  hall  to  the  ban- 
quet-chamber. There  were  the  daughters 
of  Laban,  reclining  in  graceful  ease.  The 
banquet  -  table  had  been  removed.  Now 
they  were  taking  their  feast  of  old  tales  and 
new  gossip.  They  rose  and  came  to  meet 
the  young  men.  Tunics  of  jewelled  gauze 
covered  without  concealing  forms  lovely  as 
the  sculptures  of  immortal  Greece  and 
redolent  of  all  rare  perfumes. 

"And  you  would  see  a  maidens'  frolic?" 
said  one  to  Vergilius. 

Then  said  he:  "Maidens  are  ever  a 
delight  to  me." 

"Ay,  they  make  you  to  forget,"  said  the 
girl. 

He  thought  a  moment  before  answering. 
"It  may  be  true,"  said  he.  "But  they 
keep  you  in  mind  of  the  power  of  woman." 

Strains  of  the  lyre  broke  in  upon  them. 
Suddenly  the  centre  of  the  great  room  was 

173 


thronged  with  maidens.  The  young  tribune 
was  full  of  wonder,  knowing  not  whence 
they  had  come.  There  was  a  wreath  of 
roses  on  each  brow,  and  as  they  gathered 
in  even  rank  with  varicolored  robes  upon 
them,  they  reminded  the  knight  of  garden 
walls  in  Velitras.  Quickly  they  began  to 
mingle,  with  feet  tripping  lightly,  with 
bodies  bending  to  display  their  charms. 
Threadlike,  wavering  gleams  of  ruby,  pearl, 
and  sapphire  seemed  to  weave  a  net 
upon  them.  Such  a  scene  appealed  to  the 
love  of  beauty  in  Vergilius.  It  awoke  dy- 
ing but  delightful  memories  of  the  pagan 
capital — splendors  of  form  and  color,  glow- 
ing eyes  and  pretty  frolic. 

"O  Venus,  mother  of  love!"  he  whis- 
pered, turning  to  admire  a  statue  in  the 
dim -lit  corner  where  he  stood.  Now  the 
eyes  of  Venus  were  covered  with  an  arm. 
Out  went  his  hand  to  feel  the  shapely  mar- 
ble. It  was  warm,  and  slowly  Venus  began 
to  move,  as  did  the  strains  of  music,  and, 
presently,  whirled  away. 


"How  beautiful!"  he  said.  '"Tis  the 
magic  of  a  dream." 

His  eyes  were  upon  the  form  of  Venus, 
taller  than  the  others  and  more  nobly 
fashioned. 

"  'Tis  the  great  goddess  come  to  earth," 
said  he,  turning  to  Lugar. 

The  music  had  ceased.  The  maidens, 
save  two,  had  flung  themselves  upon  rugs 
and  couches.  Venus  and  another  were  ap- 
proaching the  Roman. 

"Daughter  of  Herod,"  said  he,  going 
to  meet  her,  "I  knew  you  not." 

She  took  his  arm  and  led  him  to  one  of  the 
couches. 

"You  are  very  stubborn,"  said  she, 
looking  into  his  eyes.  "You  had  'busi- 
ness.'" 

"  So  have  I.  We  came  here,  as  I  thought, 
to  confer  with — with  wise  men." 

"And  not  with  wise  women?" 

"It  may  be.  I  had  not  learned  to  look 
for  wisdom  where  there  is  beauty." 

"And  have  I  not  wisdom?     Ah,  son  of 

175 


Varro,  my  mother  has  taught  me  many 
mysteries.  I  can  read  the  future  and  the 
past." 

She  leaned  close  to  his  ear  and  whispered, 
her  arm  against  his:  "I  believe  in  the 
power  of  fate.  I  had  much  to  say  and  you 
had  not  the  will  to  listen.  It  has  brought 
you  and  me  together." 

"To  enchant  me  with  your  beauty?"  he 
inquired. 

"Nay,"  said  she,  her  cheek  touching  his 
shoulder.  "But  to  instruct  you  with  my 
wisdom.  I  see  much  in  your  face." 

"And  what  see  you?" 

"Apollo!"  she  whispered,  with  a  sigh; 
"and  the  power  to  be  great." 

It  flattered  him,  but  he  knew  the  sound 
of  fair  words. 

"In  Rome,"  said  he,  laughing,  "we  be- 
little with  compliments." 

"  In  Jerusalem  we  fill  them  with  sincerity, 
and  often — " 

He  listened  as  the  daughter  of  Herod 
drew  closer. 

176 


"They  convey  our  love,"  she  added,  in  a 
whisper. 

"  I  learn  wonderful  things  every  day.  But 
why  think  you  I  am  to  be  great?" 

"  I  know  the  mysteries  of  fate,"  she 
answered,  quickly,  and  with  a  little  re- 
sentment of  his  coldness.  "But  there  is 
one  thing  in  your  way." 

"And  what?" 

"Your  work  is  to  be  in  Judea,  and  you 
love,  or  think  you  love,  a  Roman  maiden." 

"  I  know  that  I  love  her,"  said  he, 
quickly. 

"  But  love  is  a  great  deceiver.  You  shall 
not  take  her  for  your  wife." 

"Why?"  he  demanded,  turning  and  look- 
ing into  the  face  of  Salome. 

Her  dark  eyes  were  now  gazing  into  his, 
her  hand  softly  stroking  his  bare  arm. 

"Because,"  she  whispered,  and  now  he 
could  feel  the  motion  of  her  shapely  red  lips 
upon  his  ear,  "here,  in  Judea,  you  shall 
find  one  who  loves  you  with  a  greater  love." 

His  pulses  were  quick  with  passion.  He 
177 


rose,  turning  from  the  daughter  of  Herod. 
To  his  amazement  the  others  had  all  de- 
parted. He  and  this  living  Venus  of  Judea 
were  alone. 

She  rose  and  spoke  rapidly,  her  heart's 
fire  in  her  words!  "  Here  the  love  of  wom- 
en is  longer  than  their  lives — greater  than 
their  prudence  or  their  hope  of  heaven." 

She  stood  erect  before  him,  her  beauty 
striving  with  the  ardor  of  her  words. 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  kind  of  fear 
in  his  eyes. 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers.  "My  father 
is  fond  of  you,"  she  continued.  "Shall  I 
tell  your  future?" 

"And  I  knew  it  for  a  moment  hence  I 
should  know  all,"  he  answered,  covering 
his  eyes.  She  came  near,  and,  caressingly, 
put  an  arm  about  his  neck.  He  could  hear 
a  nightingale  singing  somewhere  in  the 
great  palace.  It  seemed  to  fling  open  the 
gates  of  memory.  He  thought  of  his  love 
— sacred  now  above  all  things.  His  fear 
of  it  was  like  as  the  fear  of  the  gods  had 
178 


been  to  his  fathers.  For  a  moment  honor, 
wisdom,  and  love  trembled  in  the  balance. 
Suddenly  he  stood  erect  and  put  his  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  Salome  and  gently 
pushed  her  aside. 

He  turned  away,  his  left  arm  covering 
his  eyes  and  his  right  moving  in  a  gesture 
of  protest.  He  staggered  as  one  drunk 
with  wine.  Slowly  he  crossed  the  chamber, 
struggling  to  defend  his  soul. 

"I  dare  not  look  upon  your  face  again," 
said  he,  sternly. 

She  ran  before  and  tried  to  stop  him. 
"Hear  me,  son  of  Varro,"  said  she.  "It  is 
my  will  to  help  you." 

"  I  will  not  look  upon  your  face  again,"  he 
repeated. 

She  struck  at  his  hand  fiercely,  her  foot 
stamping  on  the  floor.  Now  was  she  of  the 
catlike  tribe  of  Herod. 

"Go,  stupid  fool!"  The  words  came 
hissing  from  her  lips.  "I  hate  you!"  She 
ran  away,  with  impassioned  laughter.  He 
passed  the  door. 

179 


"To  the  evil  honor  is  ever  stupid,"  he 
said,  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  palace.  By- 
and-by  he  added,  thoughtfully,  ""Pis  a 
mighty  friend — this  great  love  in  me." 

And  said  David,  who  was  waiting  when 
he  returned:  "They  kept  you  long,  my 
master." 

"Yes;  I  have  been  fighting!" 

"Fighting?" 

"For  the  prize  of  heaven  in  the  am- 
phitheatre of  hell.  My  love  was  my  shield, 
the  power  of  God  my  weapon." 

"  Friend,  what  mean  you  ?" 

"That  an  evil  woman  has  tried  to  put 
the  leash  of  fate  upon  me." 

"How  fared  the  battle?" 

"It  was  my  victory,"  said  Vergilius; 
"and  I  do  feel  a  mighty  peace  in  me." 


ERGILIUS  had  thought 
wisely  of  his  temptation. 
Fate  rules  them  only  who 
are  too  weak  to  rule  them- 
selves, and  the  great  leash 
of  fate  is  the  power  of  evil 
women.  It  was  now  to 
hasten  the  current  of  history  in  the  old 
capital. 

Salome  sat  with  Manius  in  the  great  pict- 
ure-room of  her  mother's  palace.  Guests 
had  left  the  banquet-hall  and  gone  to  their 
homes.  It  was  near  the  middle  hour  of  the 
night  and  Herod's  daughter  was  alone  with 
the  young  assessor  of  Augustus. 

"You  shall  choose,"  said  she,  "between 
181 


the  daughter  and  the  son  of  Herod.  My 
brother  hates  me,  and  I  fear  him.  When  he 
is  king,  what,  think  you,  would  happen  to 
the  husband  of  Salome,  and  what  to  her? 
I  should  have  to  train  my  tongue  to  praise 
him  and  my  knees  to  bend.  I  should 
need  to  bow  my  head  for  fear  of  losing  it. 
Know  you  not  of  Alexander  and  Aristo- 
bulus  and  the  dear,  beloved  Mariamne — 
how  they  died?  You  —  poor  fool!  —  you 
would  be  lucky  if  he  made  you  master  of 
the  stables!" 

"  But  he  has  promised— 

"Promised!  If  you  care  to  live  a  day 
after  he  is  king  remind  him  not  of  his 
promises." 

"  Think  you  Antipater  would  dare  to  take 
my  life?  I  am  an  officer  of  Augustus." 

"  Oh,  beautiful  boy !"  she  laughed.  "  He 
would  be  no  toy  of  Caesar.  He  dreams  of 
conquest.  He  will  gather  an  army  in  Judea, 
Parthia,  and  Arabia.  He  will  attack  Caesar, 
and  Caesar  is  growing  old.  Do  you  not 
know  it  is  long  since  Actium?" 
182 


Alarm  had  risen  to  the  eyes  of  the  young 
Roman,  his  lips  were  now  trembling. 
"What  is  your  plan?"  he  whispered. 

"Betray  the  council,"  said  she.  "Tell 
the  king  and  write  to  Caesar  about  it.  So 
you  will  prove  your  faithfulness  and  devo- 
tion. Loving  Caesar,  you  have  been  a  spy 
self-appointed.  Antipater  shall  be  put  to 
death,  and  we — we  shall  have  honor  and 
glory  and,  maybe,  a  palace  of  many 
towers." 

She  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  gave 
him  a  look  whose  meaning  he  understood. 

"By  all  the  gods!  you  are  worthy  to  be 
the  wife  as  well  as  the  daughter  of  a  king," 
he  whispered,  his  cheeks  red  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  But  they  will  think  me  a  poor 
spy  if  I  give  not  the  names  of  the  con- 
spirators, and  how  may  I?" 

"But  the  God-fearing  fool,  Vergilius— 
you  know  he  is  of  them?" 

"  I  am  sure — I  heard  his  voice,  but  I  have 
not  seen  him." 

"You  shall  see  him,"  said  she,  with 
183 


rising  fury  in  her  eyes;  "and  I  shall  see 
him"  —she  paused,  her  hands  clinched, 
her  tongue  sorting  hot  words — "melting  in 
fire,"  she  added,  fiercely.  She  clapped  her 
hands;  she  leaned  forward,  her  body  shak- 
ing with  a  silent,  horrible  laughter  of  the 
spirit. 

A  moment  she  seemed  to  dwell  upon  the 
awful  picture.  Then,  turning  to  Manius: 
"Give  the  password  to  my  father  and  let 
him  go  and  listen.  I  promise  you  their 
names  shall  not  be  long  a  secret.  He  must 
hear  all.  Give  him  plans  of  that  chamber 
so  he  may  guard  the  exits." 

"  I  will  do  my  part,  dear  and  wonderful 
daughter  of  Herod!  To-morrow  I  shall 
begin  the  good  work."  So  saying  the 
Roman  embraced  Salome  and  spoke  his 
farewell. 

Having  left  her,  he  went  to  his  own 
palace  and  sat  awhile  pondering. 

"But  if  Herod  is  there,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "and  the  soldiers  come  in  with  lights 
and  the  council  members  see  me,  they  will 
184 


learn  that  I  have  betrayed  them.  And 
some  may  be  there  who  know  of  my  part 
in  other  enterprises.  By  showing  proof- 
Jupiter!  they  would  bring  confusion  or 
death  upon  me.  I  must  not  be  there,  and 
yet — and  yet  I  must.  They  wait  for  the 
shrill  voice  to  declare  the  fulness  of  time. 
Unless  I  be  there  the  king  may  be  no  wiser 
for  his  coming.  I  will  go,  but  I  will  not 
tell  Herod  of  the  long  way  underground  to 
the  street  of  tombs.  I  will  announce  the 
fulness  of  time  and  quit  the  council  before 
its  proclamation  is  made.  Then  the  old 
lion  may  spring  his  trap,  and  who,  save  Ben 
Joreb,  will  know  that  I  ever  sat  with 
traitors.  And  as  for  the  priest,  I  shall  warn 
him.  I  know  that  he  is  weary  of  Antipater 
and  will  take  a  share  in  the  new  enterprise." 


[T  was  the  day  before  the 
nones  of  November  in 
Rome.  The  emperor  had 
returned  to  his  palace  after 
opening  the  Ludi  Plebeii. 
:>The  people  had  hailed  him 
as  father,  forgiver,  peace- 
maker. A  softened  spirit,  sweeping  over  the 
world,  was  come  upon  them.  That  day  they 
had  put  in  his  hands  a  petition  for  new  laws 
to  limit  the  power  of  men  over  slaves.  But 
in  that  matter  he  was  bound  to  ancient  cus- 
tom by  fetters  of  his  own  making.  Once — 
he  was  then  emperor  of  Rome  but  not  of  his 
own  spirit — he  had  punished  a  slave  by  cru- 
cifixion for  killing  a  pet  quail.  For  that 
186 


act,  one  cannot  help  thinking,  he  must  have 
been  harassed  with  regret.  The  sting  of 
it  tempered  his  elation  that  November  day. 
He  was,  however,  pleased  with  the  spirit  of 
the  people  and  his  heart  was  full  of  sym- 
pathy and  good-will. 

On  his  table  were  letters  from  the  south. 
He  lay  comfortably  in  his  great  chair  and 
began  to  read  them.  Presently  his  body 
straightened,  the  wrinkles  deepened  in  his 
brow.  Soon  he  flung  the  letter  he  had  been 
reading  upon  his  table  and  leaned  back, 
laughing  quietly  as  he  remarked  to  himself: 

"  Innocent,  beautiful  son  of  Varro !  He  is 
making  progress." 

An  attendant  came  near. 

"Find  my  young 'Appius  at  once  and 
bring  him  to  me,"  said  the  emperor,  as  he 
went  on  reading  his  letters. 

Appius,  quickly  found,  came  with  all 
haste  to  the  great  father  of  Rome. 

"I  have  news  for  you,"  said  the  latter, 
quietly,  with  a  glance  at  his  young  friend. 
He  continued  to  read  his  letters. 
187 


"  News!"  said  Appius. 

"  'Tis  of  Vergilius  —  the  apt  and  youth- 
ful Vergilius.  How  swift,  industrious,  and 
capable  is  he !  How  versatile !  How  varied 
his  attainments!" 

"I  am  delighted." 

The  emperor  turned  his  keen  eyes  on  the 
young  man,  with  a  smile  of  amusement. 
Then  he  spoke,  gently: 

"  'Tis  only  four  months,  and  he  has  be- 
come a  conspirator,  and  also  a  prophet,  and 
is  likely  soon  to  be — what  is  that  word  they 
use  in  Judea  ? — an  angel.  You  will  start  for 
Jerusalem  to  -  morrow,  my  good  Appius. 
And  when  you  arrive  there  convey  to  him 
my  congratulations." 

"  Your  congratulations!" 

"  That  he  is  upon  earth  to  receive  them," 
said  the  great  man.  He  resumed  his  letters 
and  continued  speaking,  slowly:  "Tell  him 
I  have  been  asked  to  consider  whether  he 
should  keep  his  head  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  that  I  have  decided  to  refer  the  ques- 
tion to  him.  It  will  not  come  back  to  me. 
188 


Say,  also,  that  he  should  have  more  light 
upon  his  friends,  and  that  I  have  withdrawn 
my  consent  to  his  marriage." 

The  young  man  rose,  a  look  of  astonish- 
ment in  his  face. 

"  But  shall  I  be  in  time?"  said  he,  with 
some  excitement. 

"Learn  composure,  my  good  Appius. 
Herod  may  not  be  extremely  polite  to  him, 
but — but  he  will  wait." 

That  odd  man,  Gaius  Julius  Caesar  Oc- 
tavianus  Augustus,  laughed  silently  as  the 
youth  was  leaving.  He  beckoned  to  a  slave, 
who  halted  Appius  and  turned  him  back. 

"An  escort  will  be  on  the  campus  at 
dawn,"  said  the  emperor.  "I  wish  you  a 
pleasant  journey  and  will  write  you  when  to 
return." 

Now  there  had  been  no  changes  of  mo- 
ment in  the  palace  of  the  Lady  Lucia,  save 
one.  The  slave-girl,  Cyran,  had  brought  to 
Arria  the  inspiration  of  a  new  faith.  The 
sister  of  Appius  had  begun  to  try  it  in  secret 
prayers.  Her  mother  had  fallen  ill  of  a 
189 


deadly  fever  so  that  none  had  hope  of  her 
recovery,  and  the  girl  had  prayed,  and,  lo ! 
her  prayer  had  been  answered.  Letters  from 
Vergilius,  full  of  the  new  light  in  him,  had 
confirmed  her  faith.  And  Arria  confided 
to  her  family  and  intimates  knowledge  of 
her  devotion  to  the  one  God.  Soon  the 
religion  of  Judea  had  become  a  topic  of 
patrician  Rome. 

When  Vergilius  had  left  the  capital,  An- 
tipater  came  every  day  for  a  time  to  the 
palace  of  the  Lady  Lucia,  and  brought  with 
him  many  beautiful  gifts.  But  Arria  re- 
fused to  see  him  or  to  accept  the  gifts  he 
had  brought.  Now  the  stubborn  prince 
had  faith  that  when  he  was  made  king  she 
would  no  longer  be  able  to  resist  him.  If 
he  failed  with  splendor,  he  was  beginning 
to  consider  what  he  might  do  with  power. 

That  day  of  the  interview  between 
youth  and  emperor  a  letter  came  to  Arria 
from  her  lover.  It  began  as  follows  : 

"  DEAR  LOVE, — It  has  been  a  day  illumined 
with  new  honor  and  the  praises  of  a  king.  Now, 

190 


Uergilius 

before  sleeping,  I  send  these  words  to  tell  you 
that  I  have  not  forgotten.  Every  day  I  think  of 
you,  and  my  love  grows.  I  see  your  face  full  of 
honor  and  the  will  to  give  all  for  me.  Because 
it  is  in  you,  I  love  honor  beyond  all  my  hope  of  it, 
and — that  look  in  your  eyes — oh,  it  has  made  me 
to  think  gently  and  be  kind!  Now  I  tell  you 
of  a  wonderful  thing — this  feeling  is  the  very 
seed  of  friendship.  The  legate,  the  procurator, 
the  high  priest,  and  Herod  himself,  are  my 
friends.  I  had  only  the  will  to  serve,  and  now 
they  insist  that  I  shall  command.  After  all,  it  is 
in  no  way  remarkable — there  be  so  few  here  who 
forget  themselves  for  the  good  of  the  service.  It 
all  leads  to  a  new  and  a  great  law — think  of  the 
good  of  others  and  you  need  have  no  thought  of 
yourself.  Consider  this,  my  beloved,  if  every 
man  loved  a  good  woman  as  I  love  you  a  new 
peace  would  fill  the  world." 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  discovery  of  David, 
the  brother  of  Cyran,  and  their  friendship. 


HEN  Appius  told  his 
mother  and  his  sister  what 
Augustus  had  said  to  him, 
they  were  greatly  distress- 
ed. But  Arria  would  not 
believe  that  Yergilius  had 
been  guilty  of  dishonor. 
Such  were  her  anxiety  and  her  fear  of 
injustice  falling  upon  her  lover,  the  girl 
would  have  it  that  she  must  go  to  Jerusa- 
lem with  Appius.  She  would  neither  be 
turned  away  nor  bear  with  dissuasion. 
Her  brother  told  her  not  of  the  bitter 
message  of  Augustus,  and,  fearing  the  wiles 
of  the  Jewish  prince,  determined  to  take 
her  with  him.  So,  therefore,  as  the  sun 
192 


rose  on  the  nones  of  November  in  that 
year  of  the  birth  of  Jesus,  they  set  out. 
with  a  troop  of  horse  on  the  Appian  Way. 

They  were  midland  in  Thrace  on  their 
way  to  Piraeus,  where  a  ship  waited  them, 
when  they  were  overtaken  by  the  cavalcade 
of  Antipater.  The  prince,  summoned  by 
Herod,  was  now  returning,  under  royal 
banners,  to  receive  his  inheritance  of  glory 
and  power.  A  letter  had  started  him, 
which,  according  to  the  great  historian  of 
that  time,  was  warm  with  affectionate 
greeting.  Antipater,  also,  was  to  take  ship 
for  Judea.  He  had  learned  of  the  depart- 
ure of  Appius  and  Arria,  and  had  pushed 
his  horses  to  the  limit  of  their  speed  in 
order  to  overtake  them.  When  he  first 
saw  the  troop  of  the  young  Roman,  he  left 
his  column  and  came  rushing  on  to  greet 
them. 

The  troop  of  Appius  quickly  faced  about 
and  stood  with  raised  lances. 

"  Proud  son  and  daughter  of  Publius," 
said  Antipater,  drawing  rein,  "my  heart, 
193 


my  horses,  and  my  men  are  at  your  service !" 
He  was  now  splendid  in  royal  vestments 
of  purple  and  gold. 

"  Our  gratitude  is  not  less  than  our  sur- 
prise," said  Appius.  "How  came  you  fly- 
ing out  of  the  west  like  a  bluebird?" 

"  'Tis  a  winged  foot  that  goes  to  meet  a 
friend,"  said  the  prince.  "I  left  Rome  far 
behind  you  and  I  go  to  Jerusalem." 

''We  took  you  for  a  bandit." 

"And  I  am  only  a  king,"  said  Antipater, 
proudly.  "I  am  summoned  to  take  the 
crown  of  my  father." 

"And  is  he  dead?" 

"Nay,  but  ill  and  weary  of  his  burden." 

Appius  removed  his  helmet  as  he  made 
answer : 

"The  gods  give  you  health,  honor,  and 
wisdom,  O  king!  Will  you  ride  with  us?" 

"Already  the  gods  give  me  honor,"  said 
the  prince,  bowing  politely  as  the  troop 
made  way  for  him.  "  I  doubt  not  they  will 
add  health  and  wisdom.  But  there  is  a 
blessing  I  put  above  either." 
194 


They  started  slowly,  Antipater  riding 
between  Arria  and  her  brother  in  advance 
of  the  troop. 

"And  shall  we  ask  the  gods  to  grant  it?" 
said  Arria. 

"Yes,  for  it  is  your  favor,  sweet  girl. 
I  adore  you,  and  shall  have  no  other 
queen."  . 

"I  cannot  give  you  my  heart,"  said  she, 
frankly.  "It  is  impossible — I  cannot  bear 
to  speak  of  it." 

"  And  you  would  not  share  my  power  and 
glory  with  me?"  said  Antipater,  turning, 
with  a  look  of  surprise. 

Appius  answered: 

"  Once  before  I  have  told  you,  my  worthy 
prince,  that  whom  the  emperor  chooses  she 
will  wed." 

"Think  not  of  that — I  shall  make  terms 
with  him,"  said  Antipater.  "She  shall 
never  wed  a  weak-hearted  tribune." 

"You  speak  lightly  of  my  friend,"  said 
Appius.  "  I  like  it  not,  good  sire." 

"  Son  of  Herod,"  said  Arria,  drawing 
195 


rein,  "  we  cannot  longer  enjoy  your  com- 
pany." 

Appius  halted  the  troop. 

For  a  little  Antipater  was  dumb  with 
astonishment.  He  drew  aside,  and  when 
he  spoke  his  voice  trembled  with  ire,  it 
was  near  bursting  into  fury. 

"Sweet  girl,"  said  he,  caressing  the  neck 
of  his  horse,  "not  even  the  power  of  Rome 
shall  forbid  me  to  love  you,  and  I  swear, 
by  the  god  of  my  fathers,  no  man  shall  live 
between  us!"  He  turned  quickly,  and  a 
fierce  look  came  into  his  eyes  and  he  added, 
in  a  hoarse  half -whisper,  "  You  shall  be  my 
wife,  sister  of  Appius." 

The  young  Roman  wheeled  his  horse 
between  them.  Antipater  backed  away, 
threatening  with  his  lance.  He  shouted  to 
his  trumpeter,  his  troop  being  hard  by,  and 
quickly  a  call  sounded.  Then  spur  went 
to  flank,  and  the  followers  of  the  Jew 
passed  in  a  quick  rush  and  went  thunder- 
ing off,  Antipater  at  the  head  of  their 
column.  He  rode  to  Athens  in  ill  humor 
196 


and  was  at  Piraeus  three  hours  in  advance 
of  Arria  and  Appius.  The  sun  had  set 
and  the  sea  lay  calm  in  a  purple  dusk. 
He  went  aboard  his  trireme  at  once  and 
called  his  pilot  to  him. 

"  Go  find  the  vessel  waiting  here  for  one 
Appius  of  Rome,"  he  commanded. 

"It  is  she  that  lies  near  us,"  said  the 
other. 

"And  you  know  her  pilot?" 

"  Ay,  'tis  Tepas  the  Idumaean.  He  knows 
the  broad  sea  as  one  may  know  his  own 
vineyard." 

"  Bring  him  to  me." 

When  Tepas  came,  Antipater  took  him 
aside  and  spread  before  him  a  chart  of 
the  vast,  purple  sea  which  beat  upon  the 
shores  of  Hellas.  He  put  his  ringer  on  a 
little  spot  some  leagues  from  the  coast  of 
Africa. 

"Know  you  the  Isle  of  Doom?"  said  he. 

"Ay,  'tis  a  lonely  heap  of  rocks." 

"A  roost  of  sea-birds,"  said  the  prince  of 
Judea.     "Know  you  who  am  I?" 
197 


"You  are  the  son  of  Herod." 

"  And  I  go  to  be  king  of  the  Jews." 

Antipater  took  from  a  bag  many  pieces 
of  gold  and  heaped  them  on  the  chart  above 
the  Isle  of  Doom. 

"  Would  you  earn  this  money,  and  much 
more?"  he  whispered. 

"If  you  will  but  show  me  how,"  said 
Tepas,  the  fire  of  greed  now  burning  in  his 
heart. 

"Sail  close  to  the  Isle  of  Doom.  There 
your  trireme  shall  be  leaking  and  you  shall 
desert  her  and  seek  refuge  on  the  isle  and 
wait  for  me.  You  shall  have  ample  store  of 
provisions,  and  this  treasure,  and  when  I 
come  you  shall  have,  also,  three  talents 
more  and  a  home  in  Jerusalem,  and  my 
favor  as  long  as  you  live." 

"But  how  long  must  I  wait?" 

"Not  beyond  the  ides  of  January,  good 
man." 

"Then  I  agree,"  said  Tepas. 

So  was  it  with  an  evil  man  those  days. 
If  he  were  armed  with  power  he  halted  not 
198 


between  his  plan  and  his  purpose.  There 
were,  indeed,  few  things  so  valued  as  to  be 
above  price. 

But  the  cunning  of  the  tempter  was  to 
lead  his  prey  into  further  depths  of  infamy. 
The  prince  took  the  hand  of  the  sailor  and 
whispered  to  him: 

"If  you  would  be  a  friend  to  me,  then 
my  enemies  should  be  your  enemies."  He 
paused  a  moment,  looking  into  the  eyes  of 
the  pilot  and  tenderly  patting  his  shoulder. 
It  was  like  the  guile  of  the  black  leopard. 
Presently  he  continued : 

"  Now  this  young  Roman  is  my  enemy. 
If  by  any  chance  he,  Appius,  should  die 
before  I  come,  you  shall  have  six  instead  of 
three  talents.  He  is  fond  of  wine,  and  for 
such  the  sea  has  many  perils.  Do  you  un- 
derstand me?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Tepas,  nodding  his  approval, 
and  then  that  heap  of  gold,  lying  on  the 
chart,  was  delivered  to  him,  and  without 
more  delay  he  went  to  his  own  vessel. 
Antipater  sat  in  silence,  thinking  for  a  mo- 
199 


ment,  his  chin  upon  his  breast.  Soon  the 
thought  of  his  enemies  and  their  doom 
brightened  his  eyes  and  lifted  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  a  little  and  set  his  lips  quiv- 
ering. He  leaned  forward  upon  a  table, 
softly,  as  if  in  fear  that  some  eye  would 
observe  him.  One  might  have  heard  then 
that  menacing,  Herodian  rumble  in  his 
throat.  He  seemed  to  caress  the  table  with 
his  hands. 

"  Dear  Appius !  Good  Vergilius !' '  he  mut- 
tered, seizing  a  piece  of  vellum  and  crush- 
ing it  in  his  hand.  "  Soon  my  power  shall 
close  upon  you.  And  Arria,  my  pretty 
maiden,  you  shall  repair  my  heart  with 
kisses." 

A  pet  kitten  leaped  upon  the  table.  It 
seemed  to  startle  him,  and  he  struck  it  dead 
with  his  hand. 

Then  he  sprang  up  suddenly  and  looked 
about,  a  feline  stealth  upon  him,  and  ran 
with  catlike  paces  to  the  deck. 

"Get  to  work,  you  sea-rats!"  he  roared. 
"Every  man  to  his  place.  If  we  are  not 

200 


gone  to  sea  before  the  moon  is  up,  some  of 
you  will  be  gone  to  Hades." 

In  half  a  moment  slaves  were  up  in  the 
rigging  and  rushing  across  the  deck  and 
tumbling  into  the  galley. 

And  that  night  Antipater  pushed  his 
prow  into  the  deep  sea. 

Meanwhile  Arria  and  Appius,  fearing  the 
power  of  this  new  king  of  Judea,  and 
thinking  also  of  the  peril  of  Vergilius, 
travelled  slowly,  considering  what  they 
should  do.  Appius  feared  either  to  go 
or  to  return,  but  Arria  was  of  better 
courage. 

"I  must  go  to  him,"  said  she.  "You 
know  not  this  love  in  me,  dear  brother.  I 
would  give  up  my  life  to  be  with  him.  If 
he  is  dead  I  shall  never  see  the  seven  hills 
again.  I  shall  go —  "  she  paused,  covering 
her  eyes  a  moment. 

"Where?" 

"  To  the  city  of  God,"  she  whispered. 

"May  all  the  gods  protect  us,"  said  her 
brother. 


201 


And  the  day  after  Antipater  had  set 
sail,  they,  too,  with  Cyran,  the  slave-girl, 
were  moving  southward  in  the  great,  mid- 
dle sea. 


HI    IM1    i»i    I»L 


GAIN  the  council  of  the 
covenant  was  in  session. 
Herod,  unknown  to  all,  sat 
in  the  darkness  of  the 
council  chamber.  The  in- 
trigue of  Salome  and  the 
treachery  of  Manius  had 
led  the  Lion  of  Judea  to  his  prey.  Swords 
of  fate  were  in  the  gloom  that  surrounded 
the  traitors. 

Now  there  had  been,  that  night,  a  great 
discussion  of  the  new  king,  and  suddenly 
a  man  sitting  by  the  side  of  Vergilius 
had  risen.  He  began  speaking  in  a  strange 
voice,  which  had,  however,  some  quality 
familiar  to  the  young  Roman.  Shrill  and 
203 


trembling  with  emotion,  it  thrilled  many 
with  a  feeling  of  religious  awe. 

"The  time  is  upon  us,"  said  he,  "when 
the  judges  of  the  council  have  come  to  the 
end  of  their  deliberations.  It  is  for  me, 
therefore,  to  reveal  it  to  you  in  part.  If 
there  be  any  here  who  give  not  full  ap- 
proval, let  them  freely  express  their 
minds." 

He  did  not  explain  that  such  were,  then 
and  there,  to  be  won  by  argument  or  put 
out  of  the  way  by  daggers. 

"  I  speak  of  great  things,  but  he  that  is 
to  follow  me  shall  speak  of  greater.  After 
weighing  all  the,  promises  of  Holy  Writ,  and 
enforcing  their  wisdom  by  the  counsel  of 
other  learned  men,"  he  continued,  "your 
judges  declare  the  fulness  of  time." 

The  speaker  paused.  He  heard  a  little 
stir  of  bodies,  a  rustle  of  robes  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

The  speaker  went  on : 

"  When  Herod  dies  you  shall  see  a  rider 
go  swiftly  through  the  streets  bearing  a  red 
204 


banner  and  crying,  'The  king  is  dead.' 
Then  shall  the  commander  of  the  cohorts 
go  quickly  and  take  possession  of  the  royal 
palace  and  await  the  new  king." 

Vergilius  turned  quickly  in  the  direction 
of  the  fateful  voice.  He  had  begun  to  sus- 
pect a  plot.  In  a  moment  he  saw  to  the 
very  depths  of  its  cunning.  Here  was  a 
band  of  conspirators  meeting  in  the  dark- 
ness and  speaking  in  disguised  voices. 
Probably  no  member  had  ever  seen  the 
face  of  another,  and  the  betrayal  of  a  name 
was,  therefore,  impossible.  Vergilius,  now 
commander  of  the  castle,  heard  with 
consternation  of  his  part  in  the  pro- 
gramme. By  some  movement  of  the  speak- 
er's body  an  end  of  his  girdle  was  flung 
against  the  hand  of  Vergilius.  Imme- 
diately the  young  Roman  laid  hold  of  the 
silken  cord.  Tracing  it  stealthily,  to  make 
sure  of  its  owner,  he  drew  his  dagger  and 
cut  the  girdle  in  twain,  hiding  an  end  of  it 
in  his  bosom. 

"The  new  king  is  in  Rome,"  the  speaker 
205 


added.  "Presently  you  shall  hear  the 
voice  of  his  herald,  whose  face  I  know  not, 
but  of  whose  fidelity  and  wisdom  I  have 
long  been  sure.  He  will  give  you  further 
revelation  of  our  purposes." 

It  was  cunningly  said,  for  the  speaker 
knew  that  such  a  promise  would  delay  the 
vengeance  of  Herod. 

A  little  silence  followed  the  ceasing  of 
"the  shrill  voice."  Vergilius  could  hear  its 
owner  moving  away  in  the  darkness.  Fear- 
ful possibilities  had  begun  to  suggest  them- 
selves to  the  new  convert.  Now  had  he  the 
flinty  heart  and  the  cunning  mind  of  his 
fathers.  The  darkness  had  begun  to  smoth- 
er and  sicken  him. 

"  Hear  me  now,  good  friends,"  said  a  low, 
calm,  but  unfamiliar  voice,  "and  let  my 
words  enter  your  hearts  and  be  there  cher- 
ished in  secret,  for  I  shall  tell  you  a  name, 
and  for  its  safe-keeping  you  shall  answer 
to  the  Most  High.  Know  you,  then,  that 
the  new  king  is  no  other  than  the  son  of 
Herod  and  his  name  is  Antipater — a  man 
206 


of  great  valor,  learned  in  all  wisdom  and  all 
mystery,  who  loves  the  people  of  God.  His 
heart  has  suffered,  feeling  the  wrongs  of 
Israel.  He  has  the  voice  of  wrath,  the  hand 
of  power,  and  the  claim  of  a  just  and 
natural  inheritor.  I  have  his  word  that 
we  who  are  bound  in  this  council  of  the 
covenant  shall  share  in  the  glory  of  his 
reign." 

Vergilius,  hot  with  anger,  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"Good  sirs,"  said  he,  in  a  piping  voice 
very  unlike  his  own,  "let  us  not  approve 
without  full  understanding.  There  may 
be  some  here  who  in  their  zeal  have  been 
deceived.  Let  us  be  fair,  and  warn  them 
that  all  who  approve  this  plan  are  traitors. 
I  came  here  to  study  the  mysteries  of  the 
one  God,  and  I  am  learning  the  mysteries  of 
an  evil  plot.  'Tis  a  great  surprise  to  me. 
I  like  it  not,  and  shall  have  no  part  in  it.  I 
know  not  your  names  or  your  faces,  but  I 
know  your  plan  is  murder,  and  if  the  one 
God  favor  it,  I  can  no  longer  honor  Him." 
207 


He  paused,  but  there  came  no  answer. 
Again  he  heard  a  rustle  of  garments  in  the 
dark  chamber,  and,  also,  a  stealthy  and 
suggestive  grating  of  steel  upon  scabbard. 
He  perceived  now  the  imminence  of  his 
peril.  He  could  hear  no  sound  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

He  stepped  quickly  aside,  hearing  not  the 
feet  which  followed,  nor  feeling  him  who 
clung  to  the  skirt  of  his  toga.  He  stood 
silent,  with  dagger  drawn.  As  he  felt 
about  him,  he  touched  a  pair  of  great, 
trembling  hands.  He  stood  motionless,  ex- 
pecting every  breath  to  feel  a  point  plung- 
ing into  his  flesh.  Suddenly  some  one 
blew  a  sharp  whistle  close  beside  him. 
Then,  for  a  little,  it  seemed  as  if  the  doors 
were  being  rent  by  thunderbolts.  Crowding 
forms  and  cries  of  terror  filled  the  darkness. 
The  young  Vergilius  kept  his  place  after 
the  first  outbreak.  Men,  rushing  past  him, 
had  torn  the  toga  from  his  back.  The 
hands  which  had  clung  upon  him  now  held 
his  wrist  with  a  grip  immovable.  Doors 
208 


fell  and  lights  were  flashing  in.  He  saw 
now,  on  every  side,  a  gleam  of  helmet  and 
cuirass.  Men,  retreating  from  the  lights, 
huddled  in  a  dark  corner.  Some  began  to 
weep  and  cry  to  God.  The  scene  was  aw- 
ful with  swiftness  and  terror.  The  crowd- 
ing group  moved  like  caving  sand.  It 
sank  suddenly,  every  man  going  to  his 
knees.  Quick  as  the  serpent,  a  line  of  sol- 
diers flung  itself  around  them.  Vergilius, 
with  the  man  who  clung  to  him,  stood 
apart  near  the  middle  of  the  chamber. 

Suddenly  he  heard  an  impatient,  wrath- 
ful shout  close  beside  him:  "Lights  here, 
ye  laggards!" 

Vergilius  jumped  as  if  he  had  felt  the 
prick  of  steel.  He  turned,  looking  at  the 
man  who  held  his  arm.  A  squad  with 
torches  came  swiftly,  forming  about  them. 
The  powerful  hands  let  go;  a  cloak  and 
hood  fell  upon  the  floor. 

"The  king!"  said  Vergilius,  bowing  low. 

"And  you,"  said  Herod,  breathing  heav- 
ily and  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
209 


young  man,  "you  are  the  only  friend  of  the 
king.  To  save  you  from  the  fate  of  those 
dogs  yonder,  I  would  not  let  you  go." 

This  unloved  and  terrible  man,  still  lean- 
ing upon  the  shoulder  of  Vergilius,  wept  fee- 
bly. It  seemed  as  if  the  infirmity  of  old  age 
had  fallen  suddenly  upon  him.  He  mut- 
tered, in  a  weak  and  piping  tone,  of  his 
great  life  weariness.  Then  he  seemed  to 
hear  those  low  cries  of  terror  from  beyond 
the  line  of  guards.  He  lifted  his  head,  lis- 
tening. He  turned  quickly,  crouching  low, 
and  seemed  to  threaten  the  soldiers  near 
him  with  his  hand.  They  stepped  aside 
fearfully.  Then  was  he,  indeed,  the  old 
lion  of  Judea,  ready  to  spring  upon  his 
prey. 

"  Stand  them  here  before  me,"  he  growled, 
fiercely. 

The  conspirators  were  drawn  up  in  line. 
Torches  were  held  before  their  faces.  Ver- 
gilius looked  with  pity  at  the  terrified 
throng.  There  were  Lugar  and  two  mer- 
chants he  knew,  and  that  chamberlain  of 
210 


Herod's  palace  who  had  taken  him  before 
the  king.  There  was  also  a  famous  young 
Roman  athlete,  whom  Vergilius  had  first 
seen  and  admired  at  the  circus  in  Rome, 
and  who  had  lately  been  a  member  of 
the  castle  guard.  But  none  wore  the 
girdle  which  Vergilius  had  cut  in  twain. 

The  king  stood  before  them,  raging  like 
a  man  possessed  of  demons.  Fate,  which 
had  whispered  through  lips  of  beauty  in 
the  palace  at  Caesarea,  now  thundered  in 
the  voice  of  power. 

"Serpents,  murderers,  children  of  the 
devil!"  he  roared.  "Soon  shall  your  souls 
wander  in  hell  and  your  bodies  rot  in  the 
valley  of  Hinnom.  Take  them  to  the  tort- 
ure, and  make  it  slow  for  such  as  give  us  no 
further  knowledge.  Away  with  them !  Let 
their  food  be  fear  and  their  drink  be  the 
sweat  of  agony  and  their  end  be  death  at 
the  games  of  Caesar!" 

The  will  of  that  graceful  and  voluptuous 
maiden  had  been  well  if  only  partially 
expressed. 

211 


A  guard  of  soldiers  led  the  unfortunate 
men  away. 

Herod,  now  weak  and  trembling,  took  the 
arm  of  Vergilius. 

"To  my  palace!"  said  he,  and  they  made 
their  way  to  his  litter. 

"  It  will  do  no  good  to  put  them  to  tort- 
ure," said  Vergilius.  "  You  have  heard  all. 
They  have  met  in  darkness  and  the  leaders 
have  disguised  their  voices.  No  member 
could  be  sure  of  the  identity  of  any  save 
himself.  Only  two  or  three,  perhaps,  could 
have  betrayed  other  members  of  the  order." 

"Fool!  were  they  not  sure  of  Vergil- 
ius, the  commander  of  the  cohorts?"  said 
Herod. 

"  But  the  plot  is  uncovered,  and  now, 
great  sir,  I  implore  you,  try  the  remedy  of 
Caesar." 

Herod  ceased  muttering  and  turned  with 
a  look  of  inquiry. 

"Forgive  them,"  Vergilius  added. 

The  king  answered  with  curses.  Then 
from  his  chamber,  where  they  had  now  ar- 
212 


rived,  he  drove  all  save  the  young  Roman. 
"Long  ago  I  discovered  evidence  of  the 
treachery  of  the  prince,"  said  he.  "To  An- 
tipater — foul  son  of  Doris — I  despatched 
this  letter." 

He  spread  a  sheet  of  vellum  before  Ver- 
gilius,  bidding  him  read.  It  was  the  copy 
of  a  letter  addressed  to  his  "dutiful  and  af- 
fectionate son  Antipater."  It  recited  that, 
whereas  he  (Herod)  was  now  become  ill  and 
weary  under  his  many  cares,  and  needed 
the  companionship  of  them  he  loved,  An- 
tipater should  ask,  in  the  name  of  his 
father,  for  a  goodly  escort  of  cavalry  and 
proceed  at  once  to  Jerusalem,  there,  shortly, 
to  receive  his  inheritance. 

"Foul  son  of  Doris!"  the  king  growled, 
hoarsely,  as  the  young  Roman  turned. 
Then  his  voice  broke  into  a  shrill,  piping 
laugh.  ' '  Ha,  ha !  He  is  coming — even  now 
he  is  coming  to  take  the  crown  of  his  loving 
father!" 

Then  he  leaned  forward  with  a  savage 
leer,  as  if  he  saw  the  object  of  his  wrath. 
213 


TforgtlUts 

His  lips  were  parted,  his  mouth  open,  his 
breath  came  hissing  from  his  throat. 

"  Foul  son  of  Doris!"  he  repeated,  beating 
the  floor  with  his  feet.  "Your  lies  have 
drowned  me  in  the  blood  of  those  I  love. 
Swamp  plant!  creeping  asp!  Soon  shall  I 
put  my  foot  upon  you!" 

Turning  to  Vergilius,  he  continued,  pres- 
ently : 

"  Be  ready,  my  tribune,  to  go  down  to 
the  sea  with  a  cohort.  There  meet  him,  as 
he  comes,  and  let  him  fall  quickly  from  his 
height  of  greatness,  and  chain  him,  hand 
and  foot,  and  bring  him  hence.  You  may 
go  now." 

Vergilius  bowed  and  left  the  home  of 
Herod.  As  he  went  away  he  fell  to  think- 
ing of  that  girdle's  end  in  his  bosom.  Al- 
though it  was  past  the  middle  hour  of 
night,  he  hastened  to  the  palace  of  Manius. 
The  assessor,  distraught  and  pale,  started 
as  he  met  him,  and  Vergilius  saw  at  once 
that  an  end  of  the  other's  girdle  had 
been  cut  away.  The  young  tribune  drew 
214 


that  piece  of  braided  silk  from  under  his 
tunic. 

"  It  is  yours  ?"  said  he,  tossing  it  to  Manius. 

"I — I  had  not  observed,"  said  the  other, 
nervously.  "  It  is  part  of  the  girdle  I  wear 
in  deference  to  the  people  among  whom  I 
live.  How  came  you  by  it?" 

"Fox!  Your  cunning  will  not  save  you. 
Tell  me  first  how  you  escaped  the  peril  into 
which  you  had  drawn  me." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"But  I  understand  you,"  said  Vergilius, 
with  anger.  "  There  are  but  two  places  in 
the  world  for  you.  One  is  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  Rome,  the  other  is  the  valley 
of  Hinnom."  Having  said  which,  he  turned, 
quickly,  and  left  the  assessor's  palace. 


RRIA  and  her  brother  were 
far  from  the  shores  of 
Hellas  and  near  the  Isle  of 
Doom.  Tepas  knew  that  a 
few  leagues  more  would 
bring  him  in  sight  of  the 
familiar  cliffs.  Brother  and 
sister  were  reclining  on  the  deck  of  their 
trireme.  The  tenth  day  of  their  journey 
was  near  its  end.  The  sun  had  sunk 
through  misty  depths  of  purple,  and  now 
seemed  to  melt  and  pour  a  flood  of  fire 
upon  the  waters. 

"I   am  weary,"    said   the   girl,   looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  calm  sea. 
"Of  me?"  said  her  brother. 
216 


"  Nay,  but  of  that  groaning  of  the  rowers. 
It  tells  me  of  aching  arms  in  the  galley.  I 
cannot  sleep  at  night,  hearing  it." 

Appius  laughed  with  amusement.  "Lit- 
tle fool !' '  said  he.  "  The  slaves  of  Tepas  are 
all  Jews." 

"But  they  are  men,"  said  the  beautiful 
girl;  "and  do  you  not  understand,  dear 
brother?  I  love  a  man." 

"Love!"  exclaimed  Appius,  with  con- 
tempt. '  Tis  only  as  the  longing  of  the 
bird  for  its  mate." 

"Nay,  I  would  give  all  for  him  I  love." 

"Not  all,"  said  he,  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,  all — even  you,  and  my  mother,  and 
my  home,  and  my  country,  and  my  life — I 
am  sick  with  longing.  And  when  I  think 
of  him  I  cannot  bear  to  see  men  suffer." 

"You  are  gone  mad,"  said  Appius,  "and 
I  pray  the  gods  to  bring  you  back.  It  may 
be  the  fair  Vergilius  forgets  you." 

She  turned,  quickly,  and  her  voice  trem- 
bled as  she  whispered:  "Nay,  he  also  has 
15 

217 


l^rgtltua 

the  great  love  in  him.  He  could  not  for- 
get." 

Cyran,  the  pretty  slave -girl,  came  soon 
with  their  evening  repast.  Arria  bade  her 
sit  beside  them. 

"Tell  us,  dear  Cyran,"  said  the  Roman 
beauty — "tell  us  a  tale  of  old  Judea." 

"Beloved  mistress,"  said  Cyran,  kneeling 
by  the  side  of  Arria  and  kissing  the  border 
of  her  robe,  "  listen ;  I  will  tell  you  of  the 
coming  of  the  great  love.  Long  ago  there 
was  a  maiden  of  Galilee  so  beautiful  that 
many  came  far  to  see  her.  Now,  it  so 
befell,  there  came  a  certain  priest,  young 
and  fair  to  look  upon,  who  did  love  her 
and  seek  her  hand  in  marriage.  And 
she  loved  him,  even  as  you  love,  but 
would  not  wed  him.  O  my  good  mistress ! 
She  knew  that  a  mighty  king  was  com- 
ing, and  she  was  held  of  a  great  hope 
that  God  would  choose  her  for  the  blessed 
mother.  And,  still  loving  the  priest,  she 
kept  herself  pure  in  thought  and  deed. 
Every  day  they  saw  each  other,  but  stayed 
218 


apart,  and  their  love  grew  holier  the 
more  it  was  put  down.  And  oh,  it  was 
a  wonder !  for  it  filled  their  hearts  with  kind- 
ness and  sent  their  feet  upon  errands  of 
mercy.  And  many  years  passed,  and  one 
day  they  sat  together. 

"'My  beloved,  you  are  grown  old  and 
feeble,  and  so  am  I,'  said  she.  'We  have 
pitied  every  child  of  sorrow  but  ourselves.' 
And  they  rose  and  put  their  arms  about 
each  other  and  went  into  the  dark  valley 
of  death,  heart  to  heart,  that  very  day,  and 
were  seen  no  more  of  men.  And  they  in 
the  hills  of  Galilee,  where  the  lovers  dwelt, 
made  much  account  of  them,  for  while  she 
had  not  borne  the  great  king,  still  was  she 
long  remembered  as  the  blessed  mother  of 
holy  love.  Now,  maidens,  with  youth  and 
love  and  beauty  strong  upon  them,  gave  all 
for  the  great  hope.  And  wonderful  stories 
went  abroad,  and  women  were  more  sacred 
in  the  eyes  of  men,  seeing  that  one  of  them, 
indeed,  must  be  mother  of  the  very  Son  of 
God." 

219 


Vtrgtliita 

The  slave-girl  covered  her  face  and  her 
body  shook  with  emotion. 

"  Cyran,  why  are  you  crying  ?"  said  Arria. 

"Because,"  Cyran  replied,  her  voice 
trembling — "because  I  can  never  be  the 
blessed  mother." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Arria,  "have  you  never 
felt  the  great  love?" 

Cyran  rose  and  looked  down  at  her 
mistress. 

"I  have  felt  the  pain  of  it,"  said -she, 
sadly.  "And  my  heart — Oh,  it  is  like  the 
house  of  mourning  where  Sorrow  has 
hushed  the  Children  of  Joy.  But  the  sweet 
pain  of  love  is  dear  to  me." 

"Tell  me  of  it." 

"Good  mistress,  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"Why,  dear  Cyran?" 

"Because—  the  slave -girl  hesitated; 
then  timidly  and  with  trembling  lips  she 
whispered,  "because,  dear  mistress,  I — I 
love  you."  She  seemed  to  bend  beneath 
her  burden  and  knelt  beside  her  mistress 
and  wept. 

220 


"  Go — please  go,"  said  Appius,  turning  to 
Cyran.  "You  irritate  me,  and  I  cannot 
understand  you." 

But  Arria  divined  the  secret  of  the  poor 
slave-girl,  and  pitied  her. 

Cyran  rose  and  left  them. 

"The  great  love  may  come  to  you,  and 
then  you  shall  understand,"  said  Arria  to 
Appius. 

"The  great  madness!"  her  brother  ex- 
claimed. "I  like  not  these  Jewish  cattle. 
The  gods  forgive  me  that  we  have  fallen 
among  them.  With  a  Jew  for  a  pilot  we 
should  make  a  landing  in  Hades." 

Something  in  his  manner  alarmed  the 
girl. 

"What  mean  you?"  she  inquired. 

"I  will  tell  you  to-morrow,"  said  her 
brother.  "  'Tis  time  you  went  to  your 
couch  and  I  to  mine.  Have  no  fear." 

Now,  the  young  Roman  had  begun  to  sus- 
pect the  pilot  of  some  evil  plan.  After  the 
girl  had  left  him  he  sat  drinking  wine  for 
hours.  Soon  he  was  in  a  merry  way,  sing- 

221 


ing  songs  and  jesting  with  all  who  passed 
him.  Long  after  the  dark  had  come,  when 
Tepas  only  remained  upon  deck,  Appius 
reeled  up  and  down,  singing,  with  a  flask 
in  his  hand.  The  moon  had  risen.  East- 
ward her  light  lay  like  hammered  silver  on 
the  ripples. 

Appius  neared  the  tall,  nigged  form  of 
Tepas.  Against  the  illumined  waters  he 
could  see  the  long,  bent  nose,  the  great 
beard,  the  shaggy  brows,  the  lasge,  hairy 
head  of  his  pilot.  Tepas,  who  ruled  his 
men  with  scourge  and  pilum,  had  made 
himself  feared  of  all  save  the  young  Roman 
noble.  Appius  halted,  looking  scornfully 
at  the  Jew.  Then  he  shouted: 

"A  knave,  upon  my  honor!  'Tis  better 
to  be  drunk,  for  then  one  has  hope  of  re- 
covery. You  long-haired  dog!  Here  is 
something  would  make  you  bay  the  moon. 
Drink  and  howl.  You  weary  me  with  si- 
lence." 

Tepas,  familiar  with  the  contempt  of 
Romans,  took  the  flask,  and,  pouring  into 

222 


his  cup,  drank  of  the  rich  wine.  Then 
Appius  held  the  flask  above  his  head,  and 
with  a  word  of  scorn  flung  it  into  the  sea. 
He  started  to  cross  the  deck  and  fell  heavily. 
Now,  after  striving,  as  it  seemed,  to  regain 
his  feet,  he  lay  awhile  muttering  and  help- 
less and  soon  began  to  snore.  The  deck 
was  deserted  by  all  save  him  and  the  pilot. 
Tepas  looked  down  at  the  young  Roman. 
Already,  far  off  in  the  moonlight,  he  had 
seen  cliffs  and  knew  they  were  on  the  Isle  of 
Doom.  He  must  be  about  his  business. 
He  went  to  where  Appius  lay  and  bent 
over  him.  The  pilot  drew  his  dagger;  the 
youth  rolled  drowsily  and  his  hands  were 
now  upon  the  feet  of  Tepas.  The  latter 
leaned  to  strike.  A  sound  startled  him. 
It  was  a  footfall  close  behind.  The  Jew 
rose,  turning  to  listen.  Suddenly  his  feet 
went  from  under  him  and  he  fell  head- 
long ;  quickly  two  seamen  leaped  upon 
him,  seizing  his  head  and  hands.  One 
disarmed  him,  the  other  covered  his 
mouth.  Appius  clung  upon  the  feet  of 
223 


Hrrgttnta 

the  Jew.  A  Roman  slave  had  taken  the 
wheel. 

"  Shall  we  bind  him  ?"  said  one  of  the  sea- 
men. 

"No,"  said  Appius,  breathing  heavily  as 
the  pilot  tried  to  shake  him  off.  "  Give  the 
dog  a  chance.  Yonder  is  an  island.  We 
shall  soon  be  near  it,  and  by  swimming 
he  may  save  his  life." 

"The  gold  is  upon  him,"  said  a  seaman; 
"I  can  feel  it  under  his  tunic." 

"  But  we  shall  not  rob  him,"  was  the  an- 
swer of  Appius. 

"It  is  heavy.  It  will  be  like  a  stone  to 
sink  him." 

"  However,  we  shall  not  rob  him,"  the 
young  Roman  repeated. 

Now,  when  they  were  come  as  near  the 
isle  as  they  dare  bring  their  ship,  Appius 
gave  a  command.  They  lifted  the  body 
of  that  cursing  wretch.  Back  and  forth 
they  swung  it  as  one  counted.  Then  over 
it  went  with  reaching  hands  and  fell  upon 
the  moonlit  plane  of  water.  They  could 
224 


Hergtltua 

see  him  rise  and  turn  towards  the  isle, 
swimming.  Weighted  by  his  burden,  he 
swam  not  twice  his  length  before  the  sea 
closed  above  him. 

"  I  thought  he  had  struck  you  with  his 
dagger,"  said  one  of  the  seamen. 

"  It  would  have  done  no  harm,"  Appius 
replied.  "  I  have  a  corselet  under  my  tunic. 
Is  the  ship  still  leaking?" 

"  A  little,  good  sire.  We  found  a  wedge 
in  the  planks.  He  would  have  driven  it 
through,  no  doubt,  if  all  had  gone  well 
with  him.  I  know  not  why,  unless  he 
meant  to  beach  her  under  the  cliffs  yon- 
der." 

The  young  Roman  stood  silent  for  a  lit- 
tle time.  Presently  his  thought  came  in  a 
whisper  to  his  lips:  "And  hold  my  sister 
until  Antipater  should  come." 

He  called  the  seamen  to  his  side. 

"I,  who  am  a  friend  of  the  great  father 
of  Rome,"  said  he,  "shall  see  you  well  re- 
warded. The  little  I  gave  you  is  not 
enough.  Without  your  help  and  warning 
225 


worse  luck  than  death  might  soon  have 
come  to  us." 

A  light  wind  was  now  blowing,  and  the 
sails  began  to  fill. 

Suddenly  all  rushed  forward,  falling  upon 
the  deck.  Their  trireme  had  lost  half  her 
headway  and  was  now  crashing  over  rocks 
and  trembling  as  her  bow  rose.  She 
stopped,  all  her  timbers  groaning  in  the 
shock,  and  rolled  sideways  and  lay  with 
tilted  deck  above  the  water.  Cries  of 
alarm  rose  from  her  galley.  Men  fought 
their  way  up  the  ladders  and  scrambled 
like  dripping  rats  to  every  place  of  vantage. 
After  the  shock,  Appius  had  leaped  to  the 
upper  rail,  and,  rushing  forward  to  the  door 
of  Arria's  deck-house,  found  her  and  the 
slave -girl  within  it,  unharmed.  The  two 
were  crying  with  fear,  and  he  bade  them 
dress  quickly  and  await  his  orders.  Then 
he  took  command.  Soon  a  raft  and  small 
boats  were  ready  alongside  the  wreck. 
Within  half  an  hour  Appius  and  the  two 
maidens  and  part  of  the  crew  landed. 
226 


Before  daylight  all  were  safely  carried  to 
the  bare,  lonely  rocks,  with  a  goodly  store 
of  food  and  water. 


•T  was  a  clear  morning  and 
the  tenth  day  before  the 
kalends  of  January.  Since 
the  ides,  Vergilius  had  been 
lying  in  camp  with  a  co- 
hort, near  the  port  of  As- 
calon.  Night  and  day  on 
the  headland  velites  had  been  watching  for 
the  trireme  of  Antipater.  A  little  before 
dawn  their  beacon -fires  had  flamed  up. 
Since  daylight  all  had  been  watching  the  far- 
come  vessel  of  the  son  of  Herod,  and,  as  she 
came  near,  they  could  see  the  pattern  of 
gold  upon  the  royal  vestments  of  Antipater. 
Now,  presently,  he  would  set  foot  upon  the 
unhappy  land  of  his  inheritance.  The  co- 
228 


hort  had  formed  in  a  long  arc  at  the  landing. 
Before  now,  on  his  return,  the  king's  horse- 
men had  greeted  him  with  cheers;  to-day 
he  greeted  them  with  curses.  Vergilius, 
hard  by,  faced  the  cohort,  his  back  turned 
to  the  new-comer.  Antipater  halted  as  he 
came  ashore,  looking  in  surprise  at  the 
tribune.  He  seized  a  lance,  and,  crouching 
as  he  ran,  with  sly  feet  approached  the 
Roman  officer.  He  was  like  the  cat  nearing 
its  prey.  Vergilius,  now  seeming  unmind- 
ful of  his  pursuer,  walked  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  cohort.  Swiftly,  stealthily,  the 
prince  came  near,  intending  to  plunge  his 
lance  into  the  back  of  the  young  tribune. 
Suddenly  there  rose  an  outcry  among  the 
soldiers.  Vergilius  turned;  the  prince  halt- 
ed, breathing  heavily,  for  he  had  run  near 
a  hundred  paces  in  the  sea-sand.  A  roar  of 
rage  burst  from  Lis  lips. 

"Dog!"  he  shouted.  "Bid  them  cheer 
me  or  I  will  run  you  through!"  His  lance 
threatened. 

"There  shall  be  cheers  in  a  moment,  son 
229 


of  Herod,"  said  Vergilius,  calmly  and  re- 
spectfully approaching  him.  Antipater, 
unaware  of  his  peril,  stood  with  lance  at 
rest.  With  a  hand  quick  as  the  paw  of 
a  leopard,  Vergilius  whirled  it  away  and 
caught  the  wrist  of  the  Jew  and  flung  him 
down.  While  Antipater  struggled  in  his 
great  robe  the  tribune  had  disarmed  him. 
Every  man  of  the  cohort  was  now  cheering. 
Antipater  rose  in  terrible  wrath  and  flung 
off  his  robe  of  gold  and  purple. 

"Put  him  in  irons!"  he  shouted.  "I, 
who  shall  soon  be  king  of  the  Jews,  com- 
mand you!" 

The  cohort  began  to  jeer  at  him;  Ver- 
gilius commanded  silence. 

"You  lapdog!"  Antipater  hissed,  turning 
upon  the  Roman.  "  Am  I  met  with  trea- 
son?" 

"You  give  yourself  a  poor  compliment," 
said  Vergilius.  "  Better  call  me  a  lion  than 
a  lapdog."  He  turned  to  an  officer  who 
stood  near  and  added:  "You  will  now  obey 
the  orders  of  the  king." 
230 


Forthwith,  Vergilius  went  aboard  the  new- 
come  vessel  and  seized  the  goods  of  Antip- 
ater  and  put  them  on  their  way  to  the  king. 
Meanwhile,  the  soldiers,  many  of  whom  had 
borne  with  the  cruelty  and  insolence  of 
their  prisoner,  were  little  inclined  to  mercy. 
He  struggled,  cursing,  but  they  bore  him 
down,  binding  him  hand  and  knee  to  an 
open  litter,  so  he  stood,  like  a  beast,  upon  all 
fours,  for  such,  indeed,  was  the  order  of  the 
king.  Then  they  put  on  him  the  skin  of  a 
wild  ass  and  carried  him  up  and  down,  jeer- 
ing as  the  long  ears  napped.  Vergilius,  re- 
turning, removed  the  skin  of  the  ass  and 
loosed  the  fetters  a  little,  and  forbade  the 
soldiers  any  further  revenge. 

"The  skin  of  a  leopard  would  become 
you  better,"  said  Vergilius  to  Antipater,  as 
he  unlashed  the  coat  of  shame. 

The  wrathful  Jew,  still  cursing,  tried  to 
bite  the  friendly  hand  of  his  keeper.  "  My 
noble  prince,"  said  Vergilius,  "you  flatter 
me;  I  am  not  good  to  eat." 

Those  crowding  near  laughed  loudly,  but 
231 


Vergilius  hushed  them  and  signalled  to  the 
trumpeter.  Then  a  call  and  a  rush  of 
horses  into  line.  The  litter  was  lifted 
quickly  and  lashed  upon  the  backs  of  two 
chargers.  In  a  little  time  the  cohort  was 
on  its  way  to  Jerusalem. 

Arriving,  it  massed  in  front  of  the  royal 
palace.  Vergilius  repaired  to  the  king' s  cham- 
ber. The  body  of  Herod  was  now  become  as 
an  old  house,  its  timbers  sagging  to  their  fall, 
its  tenant  trembling  at  dim  windows  while 
the  storm  beat  upon  it.  Shame  and  sorrow 
and  remorse  were  racking  him  down.  King 
and  kingdom  were  now  swiftly  changing.. 

"  At  last!"  he  piped,  with  quivering  hands 
uplifted.  "Slow -footed  justice!  come  — 
come  close  to  me." 

Eagerly  he  grasped  the  hands  of  the 
young  Roman  and  kissed  them.  Then  he 
spoke  with  bitter  irony,  his  words  coming 
fast.  "You  met  the  great  king?" 

"Yes,  good  sire." 

"  You  put  him  in  chains  and  brought  him 
hither?". 

232 


Bergtltua 

"And  I  commend  him  to  your  mercy." 

"Ha,  ha!"  the  king  shrieked,  caressing 
the  hand  of  the  Roman.  Now  his  head 
rose,  and  for  a  little  his  old  vigor  and  men- 
acing voice  returned  to  him.  "  He  has  run 
me  through  with  the  blade  of  remorse  and 
put  upon  me  the  chains  of  infirmity,"  he 
complained,  an  ominous,  croaking  rattle  in 
his  throat.  "To-day,  to-day,  my  wrath 
shall  descend  upon  him  and  my  gratitude 
upon  you!  These  forty  years  have  I  been 
seeking  a  man  of  honor.  At  last,  at  last, 
here  is  the  greatest  of  men!  I,  Herod,  sur- 
named  the  Great,  king  of  Judea,  con- 
queror of  hosts,  builder  of  cities,  bare 
my  head  before  you!" 

He  removed  his  jewelled  crown ;  he  drew 
off  his  purple  tarboosh,  and  bowed  before 
the  young  tribune.  Tenderly  Vergilius  re- 
placed them  on  the  gray  head. 

"O  king,"  said  he,  bowing  low,  "you  do 
me  great  honor." 

Herod  closed  his  eyes  and  muttered 
feebly.  Again  remorse  and  age  had  flung 
233 


their  weight  upon  him.  His  hard  face 
seemed  to  shrink  and  wither,  and  the 
young  man  thought  as  he  looked  upon  it, 
"What  a  great,  good  thing  is  death!" 

The  king  opened  his  eyes  and  piped, 
feebly :  "  Help  me ;  help  me  to  win  the  favor 
of  my  people!  You  shall  be  procurator, 
commander  of  the  forces,  counsellor  of 
kings,  priest  of  God." 

The  king  waited,  but  Vergilius  made  no 
reply.  Now,  indeed,  was  he  living  in  a 
great  and  memorable  moment.  He  thought 
of  the  power  offered  him — power  of  doing 
and  undoing,  power  of  raising  up  and  put- 
ting down,  power  over  good  and  evil. 

"Well,"  said  Herod,  impatiently,  "what 
say  you?" 

"O  king!"  said  Vergilius,  "I  had  hoped 
soon  to  return  to  Rome  and  marry  and 
live  in  the  land  of  my  fathers." 

"Hear  me,   good  youth,"    said   Herod, 

sternly,  seizing  the  hand  of  the  young  man. 

"There  is  a  wise  proverb  in  Judea.     It  is: 

'Speak  not  much  with  a  woman.'     Had  I 

234 


Tfergiluta 

obeyed  it,  then  had  I  saved  my  soul  and 
happiness.  Women  have  been  ever  false 
with  me  —  an  idle,  whispering,  and  mis- 
chievous crew!  O  youth,  give  not  your 
heart  to  them!  For  five  years  let  Judea 
be  your  bride.  She  woos  you,  son  of  Varro, 
and  she  is  fair.  She  asks  for  love  and  jus- 
tice, and  she  will  give  you  immortal  fame." 

The  king  fondly  pressed  the  hand  of  the 
Roman,  who  stood  beside  him,  grave  and 
thoughtful.  For  the  young  man  it  was '  a 
moment  of  almost  overwhelming  tempta- 
tion. Love  and  ambition  wrestled  in  his 
soul.  He  stood  silent. 

"For  only  five  years,"  the  king  pleaded. 
"  For  five  years  give  me  your  heart.  Man !" 
he  shouted,  impatiently,  "will  you  not 
answer?" 

"  I  will  consider,"  said  Vergilius,  calmly. 

"Go!"  said  Herod,  in  a  burst  of  ire. 
Then,  presently:  "Now,  now  I  will  attend 
to  the  son  of  Doris." 

And  Vergilius  hastened  away. 

Within  the  hour,  Antipater,  son  of  Herod 

235 


the  Great,  was  dragged  to  that  strong 
chamber  in  a  remote  end  of  the  vast  home 
of  Herod  whence  were  to  come  cries  for 
mercy  by  night  such  as  he  had  often  heard 
from  his  own  victims. 


OW  in  Vergilius  and  in 
many  of  that  time  the 
human  heart  had  dropped 
its  plummet  into  new 
depths  of  feeling,  the  hu- 
man mind  had  made  a 
reach  for  nobler  principles. 
A  greater  love  between  men  and  women, 
spreading  mysteriously,  had  been  as  the 
uplift  of  a  mighty  wave  on  the  deep 
of  the  spirit.  It  had  broadened  the 
sympathy  of  man;  it  had  extended  his 
vision  beyond  selfish  limits.  Vergilius  and 
Arria  had  crossed  the  boundary  of  barbaric 
evolution  under  the  leadership  of  love.  The 
young  man  was  now  in  the  borderland  of 
237 


new  attainment.  He  was  full  of  the  joy 
and  the  wonder  of  discovery.  He  was  like 
a  child — eager  for  understanding  and  im- 
patient of  delay.  Now  he  thought  with  the 
pagans  and  now  with  the  Jews. 

At  his  palace  a  letter  had  been  waiting 
for  the  tribune.  It  was  from  his  friend 
Appius.  "My  excellent  and  beloved  Ver- 
gilius,"  it  said,  "  I  address  you  with  a  feeling 
of  deep  concern  for  your  safety.  To-night 
by  tabellarius,  my  letter  shall  go  down  to 
the  sea  on  its  way  to  Jerusalem.  And  now 
to  its  subject.  This  morning  I  went  to  the 
public  games,  and,  returning,  I  was  near  my 
palace, when  a  messenger,  bearing  the  com- 
mand of  Augustus,  overtook  and  stopped 
me.  Quickly  I  made  my  way  to  The  Laurels. 
Our  great  imperator  was  in  his  chamber  and 
reading  letters.  He  gave  me  a  glance  and 
greeted  me.  I  saw  he  wished  me  to  come 
near,  and  I  stood  close  beside  him.  Then, 
with  that  slow,  gentle  tone,  he  hurled  his 
lightning  into  me — you  remember  his  way. 
He  told  me,  as  he  read,  that  you  were  mak- 
238 


ing  rapid  progress  in  Jerusalem;  that  you 
had  become  a  conspirator,  a  prophet,  and 
were  likely  soon  to  be  an  angel.  And  he 
bade  me  go  to  you  with  his  congratulations 
that  you  have  succeeded  so  long  in  keeping 
your  head  upon  your  shoulders.  Oh,  deep 
and  cunning  imperator !  Said  he : '  I  cannot 
tell  you  the  name  of  my  informant;  and 
really,  my  good  son,  why — why  should  I?' 
There,  spread  before  me  on  the  table,  so  I 
knew  he  wished  me  to  see  it,  was  a  letter 
which  bore  the  signature  of  Manius  and 
gave  information  of  a  certain  council.  I 
could  not  make  out  the  name,  but  I  was 
able  to  recall  how  the  great  father  had 
said  to  me,  once,  that  when  a  man  secretly 
puts  blame  upon  another,  the  infamy  he 
charges  shall  be  only  half  his  own.  Our 
imperator  is  no  fool,  my  friend.  'A  ship 
will  be  leaving  the  seventh  day  before  the 
ides,'  said  he.  '  You  will  not  be  able  to  make 
it.'  His  meaning  was  clear.  It  could  bear 
my  warning,  if  not  me,  and  here  it  is.  With 
the  gods'  favor,  soon,  also,  I  shall  be  able 
239 


to  say  to  you,  here  am  I.  To-morrow  at 
dawn  I  leave  for  Jerusalem." 

Beneath  the  signature  these  words  were 
added:  "As  soon  as  possible  I  wish  to. 
know  all  and  to  speak  my  heart  to  you. 
The  emperor  has  withdrawn  his  consent  to 
your  marriage  with  Arria.  I  shall  explain 
everything  but  the  purpose  of  the  emperor, 
and  who  may  understand  him?  If  it  be 
due  to  caprice  or  doubt  or  anger  he  will 
do  you  justice.  But  if  a  deeper  motive  is 
in  his  mind  who  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen?" 

This  letter  kindled  a  fire  in  the  heart  of 
Vergilius.  It  burned  fiercely,  so  that  pru- 
dence and  noble  feeling  were  driven  out.  In 
spite  of  the  warning  of  the  young  tribune, 
Manius  had  remained  in  Jerusalem.  Ver- 
gilius had  delayed  action,  dreading  to  bring 
the  wrath  of  Rome  upon  one  so  young,  so 
well  born,  so  highly  honored,  and  possibly 
so  far  misled.  Therefore,  he  had  held  his 
peace  and  waited  patiently  for  more  knowl- 
edge. Now  the  evil  heart  of  the  assessor 
240 


was  laid  bare,  his  infamy  proven.  Vergilius 
reread  the  letter  with  flashing  eyes.  Then 
he  summoned  his  lecticarii  and  set  out  for 
the  palace  of  the  plotter.  Manius  ap- 
proached him,  a  kindly  greeting  on  his 
lips. 

"Liar!"  Vergilius  interrupted,  his  hand 
upon  his  sword.  "  Speak  no  word  of  kind- 
ness to  me!" 

"What  mean  you,  son  of  Varro?"  the 
other  demanded. 

"  That,  with  me,  you  have  not  even  the 
right  of  an  enemy.  You  are  a  deadly  ser- 
pent, born  to  creep  and  hide.  Shame  upon 
you  —  murderer!  If  there  be  many  like 
you,  what — God  tell  me ! — what  shall  be  the 
fate  of  Rome?" 

Vergilius  stepped  away,  and,  lifting  his 
hands,  gave  the  other  a  look  of  unspeakable 
scorn.  Manius  made  no  reply,  but  stood 
as  still  and  white  as  marble,  with  sword  in 
hand. 

"  It  was  I  who  sat  beside  you  that  night," 
said  the  other,  his  voice  aglow  with  feeling. 
241 


"  When  I  heard  you  speak  treason  I  cut  off 
the  end  of  your  girdle.  But  you  left  by 
some  unguarded  way  and  escaped  the  fate 
of  your  fellows.  You  have  not  seen  them 
since,  and  shall  not.  When  you  see  them  die 
in  the  arena  think  what  you  escaped,  al- 
though deserving  it  more  than  they.  Vile 
serpent!  you  brought  the  king,  and  hoped 
to  send  me  also  to  Hades.  You  are  a 
traitor,  and  that  I  know.  Traitor  to 
friend  and  country!  Dare  to  provoke  me 
further  and  I  shall  slay  you!" 

"What  would  you,  son  of  Varro?"  said 
the  other,  sullenly. 

"Wretch!  If  you  would  save  your  life, 
hide  as  becomes  the  asp.  Creep  away  from 
them  who  would  put  their  feet  upon  you. 
Go  live  and  die  with  the  wild  men  of  the  far 
deserts." 

"Traitor  to  the  gods!"  said  Manius, 
threatening  with  his  sword.  "  Roman  Jew ! 
I  am  of  noble  birth,  and  claim  the  right  of 
combat." 

"I  give  it,  though  you  have  no  better 
242 


Hergiltwa 

right  than  dogs.  Well,  it  would  please  my 
hand  to  slay  you.  I  know  the  name  and 
father  you  ha.ve  dishonored,  and  you  are 
grandnephew  of  the  good  Lady  Claudia — 
noble  mother  of  Publius.  For  their  sake  I 
give  you  the  right  of  combat.  By  the  way- 
side near  Bethlehem  are  lonely  hills.  There, 
the  seventh  day  before  the  kalends,  in  the 
middle  hour  of  the  night,  you  shall  see  a 
beacon-fire  and  near  it  my  colors.  Three 
friends  may  go  with  each,  and  you  and  I 
will  draw  swords  in  the  fire-light." 

"I  shall  meet  you  there,"  said  Manius. 

Vergilius,  putting  away  his  weapon, 
turned  quickly,  and,  without  speaking,  left 
the  traitor's  palace  with  firm  faith  in  the 
one  God — that  he  was  ever  on  the  side  of 
the  just  who  humbly  sought  his  favor. 


'HE  festival  of  games,  in 
honor  of  Augustus,  were 
about  to  begin  at  Caesarea. 
Lately  the  highway  from 
north  to  south,  which 
passed  the  gates  of  Je- 
rusalem, had  been  as  a 
fair  of  the  nations.  A  host  had  jour- 
neyed far  to  amuse  the  great  king  or  to 
enjoy  his  holiday.  Gayer  and  more  given 
to  proud  speech  than  they  who  came  to  the 
festivals  of  the  Temple,  beneath  the  skull- 
bone  there  was  yet  a  more  remarkable 
unlikeness. 

These  were  mostly  the  children  of  Hatred, 
each  heart  a  lair  of  wild  passions,  each  brain 
244 


teeming  with  catlike  gods.  Here  were 
they  to  be  lifted  up  by  the  power  of  love — 
the  heathen,  the  debased.  What  a  gather- 
ing of  the  enemies  of  God  and  man !  Crowd- 
ing at  the  gates  were  gladiators  from 
Greece  and  Rome ;  Arab  chiefs  upon  camels, 
with  horses  trained  for  the  race;  troops  of 
rich  men  with  armed  retainers;  hunters 
bringing  wild  beasts  in 'cages  lashed  upon 
heavy  carts;  squads  of  Roman  cavalry; 
gamblers,  peddlers,  thieves,  bandits,  musi- 
cians, dancers,  and  singers,  some  walking, 
some  riding  horse  or  camel.  Many  had 
travelled  far  for  one  purpose — to  behold  the 
great  king.  Now  solemn  whispers  of  gossip 
had  gone  to  every  side  of  the  city.  Herod 
was  ill,  so  said  they,  and  had  not  long  to 
live.  That  morning  of  the  day  before  the 
games  the  old  king  had  summoned  Ver- 
gilius. 

"I  will  not  be  cheated  by  God  or  man," 
said  he,  fiercely.  "Tell  the  master  of  the 
games  that  I  will  have  him  entertain  me 
here  to-day,  after  the  middle  hour,  in  my 

245 


palace  court.  Bid  him  bring  beast  and 
gladiator  and  the  strong  men  of  the  prisons. 
Let  him  not  forget  the  traitors.  I  would 
have,  also,  a  thousand  maids  to  sing  and 
dance  for  me." 

The  king  looked  down,  impatiently,  at 
his  trembling  hands.  He  flung  a  wrathful 
gesture,  and  again  that  bestial  voice:  "Go, 
bid  him  bring  them!" 

So  at  the  middle  hour  a  wonderful  scene 
was  beginning  in  the  great  court  of  Her- 
od's palace.  The  king  sat  on  a  balcony 
with  Salome,  Elpis,  Roxana,  Phaedra,  and 
others  of  his  kindred.  On  the  circular 
terraces  of  a  great  fountain  below  and  in 
front  of  them  were  rows  of  naked  maidens. 
Circle  after  circle  of  this  living  statuary 
towered,  with  diminishing  radii,  above  the 
court  level,  to  an  apex,  where  a  stream  of 
cool,  perfumed  water,  broken  to  misty 
spray,  rose  aloft,  scattering  in  the  sunlight. 
So  cunningly  had  they  contrived  to  enhance 
the  charm  of  the  spectacle,  those  many 
graceful  shapes  were  under  a  fine,  trans- 
246 


parent  veil  of  water-drops  lighted  by  rain- 
bow gleams  and  sweet  with  musky  odor. 
Circles  were  closely  massed  around  the  base 
of  the  fountain.  They  stood  in  silence,  all 
looking  down.  The  old  king  surveyed 
them.  Within  the  palace  a  hundred  harp- 
ers smote  their  strings,  flooding  the  scene 
with  music.  Slowly  each  circumference 
began  to  move.  Step  and  measure  in- 
creased their  speed.  The  circles  were  now 
revolving,  one  around  another,  with  swift 
and  bewildering  motion.  At  a  signal  the 
silent  figures  broke  into  song.  They  sang 
of  the  glories  of  Jerusalem  and  the  great 
king.  Herod's  hand  was  up  —  he  would 
have  no  more  of  it.  The  song  ceased,  the 
circles,  one  by  one,  rolled  into  helices 
which,  unbending  into  slender  lines,  van- 
ished quickly  beneath  a  great  arch.  Then 
a  trumpet  peal  and  a  rattle  of  iron  wheels. 
Brawny  arms  were  pushing  a  movable 
arena.  Swiftly  it  came  into  that  ample 
space  between  the  king  and  the  great 
fountain.  Behind  its  iron  bars  a  large  lion 
247 


paced  up  and  down.  Two  hundred  mount- 
ed men  of  the  cohort  stood  in  triple  rank 
some  fifty  paces  from  the  scene.  Vergilius, 
on  a  white  charger,  was  in  front  of  the 
column. 

While  Arab  slaves  pushed  the  arena  into 
place,  David  came  and  touched  the  arm  of 
the  young  tribune.  He  whispered,  eagerly: 
"My  sister,  Cyran  the  Beloved,  is  here. 
She  is  waiting  at  the  castle." 

"Whence  came  she?"  said  the  tribune, 
with  astonishment. 

"From  the  port  of  Ascalon,  where  she 
arrived  by  trireme  with  Appius.  They 
were  wrecked,  finding  shore  in  a  far  country. 
There  the  friend  of  Cassar,  Probus  Sulpicius 
Quirinus,  discovered  them  on  his  way  from 
Carthage,  and  brought  them  hither." 

Appius,  fearing  Antipater,  had  waited  by 
the  sea  while  Cyran  came  to  find  her 
brother  and  Vergilius.  The  prince's  threat 
and  the  words  of  Caesar  had  checked  his 
feet  with  caution.  He  forbade  Cyran  to 
tell  any  one  of  the  presence  of  Arria. 
248 


UergUtua 

"And  where  is  my  friend?"  Vergilius 
demanded. 

"  He  waits  on  the  ship  to  hear  from  you 
—whether  it  be  safe  to  come.  It  seems 
Antipater  has  threatened  him." 

"Tell  Cyran  I  would  have  her  come  to 
me.  Then  find  my  orderly  and  bid  him 
bring  Appius  hither  by  the  way  of  Bethle- 
hem. If  he  arrives  there  before  the  end  of 
the  third  watch  he  will  see  my  fire-light  on 
the  hill." 

David  left  the  scene  as  a  powerful 
Thracian,  standing  by  the  arena's  gate, 
saluted  the  king.  Entering,  the  gladiator 
engaged  the  lion  with  his  lance.  In- 
cautiously he  pressed  his  weapon  too  far, 
drawing  blood.  Before  he  could  set  his 
lance  the  wild  foe  was  upon  him.  A  leap 
into  the  air,  a  double  stroke  of  the  right 
fore-paw,  and  down  fell  the  beast,  while  the 
man  reeled,  with  rent  tunic,  and  caught  the 
side  of  the  arena.  In  a  twinkling,  as  he 
clung  feebly,  he  reddened  from  head  to  toe. 
Three  bestiarii  had  thrust  in  their  lances 
249 


and  held  the  lion  back;  others  opened  a 
gate  and  removed  the  dying  gladiator. 
Herod,  leaning  over,  beckoned  to  the  master 
of  the  games. 

"A  noble  lion!"  said  he,  his  voice  trem- 
bling. "  Save  him  for  the  battle  of  the  pit." 

Now,  in  pursuance  of  the  order  of  the 
king,  a  pit  had  been  dug  and  walled  with 
timber  near  that  place  where  the  fighter 
had  met  his  death.  A  score  of  slaves 
forthwith  lowered  the  arena  into  the  pit 
with  ropes.  Herod  and  all  who  sat  with 
him  could  see  the  open  top  of  the  barred 
space,  but  the  beast  was  beyond  their 
vision. 

Another  trumpet-call.  A  band  of  prison- 
ers have  entered  the  court.  Antipater,  tall 
and  erect  in  exomis  of  plain  gray,  right 
arm  and  shoulder  bare,  walked  in  the 
centre  of  the  front  rank.  Traitors  of  the 
betrayed  council  were  there  beside  him. 
Slowly  they  about  to  die  came  forth  and 
stood  in  even  rank  and  bowed  low  before 
the  king.  Herod  beat  his  palms  upon  the 
250 


golden  rail  before  him  and  muttered  hoarse- 
ly. Then  with  raised  finger  and  leering 
face  he  taunted  them. 

' '  Outlaws !' '  he  croaked.  ' '  I  doubt  not  ye 
be  also  cowards." 

All  drew  back  save  Antipater  and  a  huge 
Scythian  bandit.  They  drew  broadswords 
and  rushed  together,  fighting  with  terrific 
energy.  The  Scythian  fell  in  a  moment. 
One  after  another  four  conspirators  came 
to  battle  with  their  chief,  but  each  went 
down  before  his  terrible  attack.  Some 
asked  for  mercy  as  they  fell,  but  all  perished 
by  the  hand  of  him  they  had  sought  to 
serve.  Held  for  the  battle  of  the  pit,  the 
young  Roman  whom  Vergilius  had  rec- 
ognized in  the  council  chamber  advanced 
to  meet  Herod's  son.  He  had  won  his 
freedom  in  the  arena  and  lost  it  in  the 
conspiracy  of  the  prince.  He  was  a  tall, 
lithe,  splendid  figure  of  a  man.  The  heart 
of  the  young  commander  was  touched  with 
pity  as  he  beheld  the  comely  youth.  This 
game,  invented  by  Antipater  himself,  was 
251 


a  test  of  strength  and  quickness.  Nets 
were  the  only  weapons,  strong  sinews  and  a 
quick  hand  the  main  reliance  of  either. 
Each  tried  to  entangle  the  other  in  his  net 
and  secure  a  hold.  Then  he  sought  to  rush 
or  drag  his  adversary  to  the  edge  of  the  pit 
and  force  him  down.  Weapons  lay  on 
every  side  of  the  arena  below.  The  un- 
fortunate had,  therefore,  a  chance  to  defend 
himself  against  the  lion. 

On  the  signal  to  begin,  Jew  and  Roman 
wrestled  fiercely,  their  weapons  on  their 
arms,  but  neither  fell.  Suddenly  Antipater 
broke  away  and  flung  his  net.  Nimbly  the 
other  dodged.  Down  came  the  net,  grazing 
his  head.  Swiftly  he  sprang  upon  the  Jew, 
striving  to  entangle  him.  Antipater  pulled 
away.  Again  the  Roman  was  upon  his 
enemy  and  the  two  struggled  to  the  very 
noses  of  the  cohort.  Hard  by  the  centre 
of  the  column,  where  sat  Vergilius  on  his 
charger,  the  powerful  prince  threw  his  ad- 
versary, and,  choking  him  down,  secured 
the  net  over  his  head.  Swiftly  he  began 
252 


Hergtltua 

to  drag  the  fallen  youth.  Vergilius,  an- 
gered by  the  prince's  cruelty,  could  no 
longer  hold  his  peace. 

"  Tis  unfair,"  said  he,  pointing  at  Antip- 
ater.  "  In  the  name  of  the  fatherly  Augus- 
tus, I  protest." 

The  prince,  still  dragging  his  foe,  an- 
swered with  insulting  threats.  The  young 
commander  leaped  from  his  horse  and  ran 
to  the  side  of  Antipater.  The  latter  re- 
leased his  captive  and  drew  sword.  Swiftly 
Vergilius  approached  him  and  the  two  met 
with  a  clash  of  steel. 

Now  the  first  battle  in  that  war  of  the 
spirit,  which  was  to  shake  the  world  with 
fury  had  begun. 

Back  and  forth  across  the  court  of  Herod 
they  fought  their  way — the  son  of  light  and 
the  son  of  darkness.  Sparks  of  fire  flew  from 
their  weapons  while  a  murmur  in  the  cohort 
grew  to  a  loud  roar  and  the  old  king  and  his 
women  stood  with  hands  uplifted  shriek- 
ing like  fiends  of  hell.  Hand  and  foot  grew 
weary ;  their  speed  slackened.  Slowly,  now, 

253 


they  moved  in  front  of  the  cohort  and  back 
to  the  middle  space.  They  were  evenly 
matched;  both  began  to  reel  and  labor 
heavily,  their  strength  failing  in  like  degree. 
The  end  was  at  hand.  Now  the  angel  of 
death  hovered  near,  about  to  choose  between 
them.  Suddenly  Antipater,  pressing  upon 
his  man,  fell  forward.  At  the  very  mo- 
ment Vergilius,  who  had  been  giving  quar- 
ter, reeled  a  few  paces  and  was  down  upon 
his  back.  Prince  and  tribune  lay  apart 
some  twenty  cubits.  Both  tried  to  rise  and 
fell  exhausted.  Half  a  moment  passed. 
Antipater  had  risen  to  his  elbow.  Slowly 
he  gained  a  knee,  while  the  other  lay  as  one 
dead.  He  rested,  staring  with  vengeful 
eyes  at  his  enemy.  Stealthily  he  felt  for 
his  weapon.  The  right  hand  of  Vergilius 
began  to  move.  A  hush  fell  upon  the 
scene.  Swiftly,  from  beside  the  cohort  a 
fair  daughter  of  Judea,  in  a  white  robe,  ran 
across  the  field  of  battle.  She  knelt  beside 
Vergilius  and  touched  his  pale  face  with 
her  hands.  Then  she  called  to  him :  "  Rise, 
254 


O  my  beloved!  Rise  quickly!  He  will 
slay  you!" 

"Cyran!"  he  whispered. 

Antipater  had  gained  his  feet  and  now 
ran  to  glut  his  anger.  Cyran  rose  upon  her 
knees  and  put  her  beautiful  body  between 
the  steel  and  him  she  loved.  The  sword 
seemed  to  spring  at  her  bosom.  She  seized 
it,  clinging  as  if  it  were  a  thing  she  prized. 
Vergilius  had  risen.  Swiftly  sword  smote 
upon  sword.  The  young  Roman  pressed 
his  enemy,  forcing  him  backward.  From 
dying  lips  he  heard  again  the  old  chant  of 
faith: 

"  Let  me  not  be  ashamed — I  trust  in  Thee,  God 

of  my  fathers; 
Send,  quickly  send  the  new  king"  .  .  . 

The  words  seemed  to  strengthen  his 
arm.  He  fought  as  one  having  power  above 
that  of  men.  On  and  on  he  forced  his  foe 
with  increasing  energy.  He  gave  him  no 
chance  to  stop  or  turn  aside.  Yells  of  fury 
drowned  the  clash  of  steel.  The  tumult 
255 


grew.  The  son  of  Herod  was  near  the  pit. 
He  seemed  to  tempt  the  Roman  to  press 
him.  Suddenly  he  leaped  backward  to  the 
very  edge.  The  Roman  rushed  upon  him. 
Before  their  swords  met,  Antipater  sprang 
aside  with  the  quickness  of  a  leopard.  In 
cunning  he  had  outdone  his  foe.  Unable 
to  check  his  onrush,  Vergilius  leaped  for- 
ward and  fell  out  of  sight.  A  booming 
roar  from  the  startled  lion  rose  out  of  the 
pit  and  hushed  the  tumult  of  the  people. 
Herod,  pointing  at  his  son,  shrieked  with 
rage  as  he  bade  the  soldiers  of  the  cohort  to 
seize  and  put  him  in  irons. 

A  score  of  slaves  hastened  to  the  mouth 
of  the  pit.  They  caught  the  ropes  and 
quickly  lifted  the  arena.  As  it  came  into 
view  the  tumult  broke  out  afresh.  There, 
far  spent,  resting  on  his  bloody  weapon, 
near  the  middle  of  the  arena  stood  Vergilius, 
and  the  lion  lay  dead  before  him. 

Slaves  opened  the  iron  gate.  Vergilius 
ran  to  the  still  form  of  the  slave-girl.  He 
knelt  beside  her  and  kissed  her  lifeless  hand, 
256 


"  Poor  child  of  God !"  he  whispered.  "  If 
indeed  you  loved  me,  I  have  no  wonder  that 
you  knelt  here  to  die." 

The  master  brought  a  wreath  of  laurel 
to  the  young  tribune,  saying:  "Tis  from 
the  king."  Vergilius  seemed  not  to  hear. 
Tenderly  he  raised  the  lifeless  body  of  Cyran 
in  his  arms.  The  spectators  were  cheering. 
"Hail,  victor!"  they  shouted. 

"  Hail,  victor!"  he  whispered,  looking  into 
the  dead  face.  "  Blessed  be  they  who 
conquer  death." 


HE  day  was  near  its  end. 
Soldiers  of  the  cohort,  bear- 
ers of  the  dead,  harpers 
and  singers  filed  through 
the  gate  of  Herod's  palace. 
Hard  by,  in  Temple  Street, 
were  many  people.  An  old 
man  stood  among  them,  his  white  beard 
falling  low  upon  a  purple  robe,  his  face 
turned  to  the  sky.  He  sang  as  if  uncon- 
scious of  all  around  him.  Often  he  raised 
his  hand,  which  trembled  like  a  leaf  in  the 
wind.  Horses,  maidens,  and  men  halted  to 
hear  the  words : 

"Now  is  the  day  foretold  of  them  who  dwell  in 
the  dust  of  the  vineyard. 

258 


Bow  and  be  silent,  ye  children  of  God  and  ye  of 
far  countries. 

Consider  how  many  lie  low  in  the  old,  imme- 
morial vineyard. 

Deep — fathom  deep — is  the  dust  of  the  dead 
'neath  the  feet  of  the  living. 

'Gone  are  they  and  the  work  of  their  hands — 
all  save  their  hope  and  desire  have  per- 
ished. 

Only  the  flowers  of  the  heart  have  endured — 
only  they  in  the  waste  of  the  ages. 

Ay — they  have  grown,  but  the  hewn  rock  has 
crumbled  away  and  the  temples  have  fallen. 

Bow,  haughty  people;  ye  live  in  the  day  of 
fulfilment — the  day  everlasting. 

Soon  the  plough  of  oppression  shall  cease  and 
the  ox  shall  abandon. the  furrow. 

Ready  the  field,  and  I  sing  of  the  sower  whose 
grain  has  been  gathered  in  heaven. 

'  Now  is  he  come,  with  my  voice  and  my  soul  I 
declare  him. 

Wonderful  Counsellor,  Mighty  God,  the  Ever- 
lasting Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace." 


The  flood  of  inspiration  had  passed.   The 
singer  turned  away.     "It  is  Simeon,"  said 
a  voice  in  the  crowd.     "He  shall  not  die 
259 


until    his   eyes   have   beheld    the   king  of 
promise." 

Those  departing  from  the  games  of 
Herod  resumed  their  march.  At  the  gate 
of  the  castle  of  Antonia,  Vergilius,  with 
David  and  two  armed  equites,  one  bear- 
ing colors,  left  the  squadron.  They  rode 
slowly  towards  the  setting  sun.  Now 
there  was  not  in  all  the  world  a  city  so 
wonderful  as  Jerusalem.  Golden  dome  and 
tower  were  gleaming  above  white  walls  on' 
the  turquoise  blue  of  the  heavens. 

"Good  friend,  I  grieve  for  her  who  is 
dead,"  said  Vergilius  to  David. 

"She  died  for  love,"  the  other  answered 
as  one  who  would  have  done  the  same. 

Vergilius  looked  not  to  right  nor  left. 
His  dark,  quivering  plume  was  an  apt 
symbol  of  thought  and  passion  beneath  it. 
His  blood  was  hot  from  the  rush  and  wrath 
of  battle,  from  hatred  of  them  who  had 
sought  his  life.  He  could  hear  the  cry  of 
Cyran:  "Rise,  rise,  my  beloved!"  Again, 
he  was  like  as  he  had  been  there  on  the 
260 


field  of  battle.  He  could  not  rise  above 
his  longing  for  revenge.  He  hated  the 
emperor  whose  cruel  message  had  wrung 
his  heart ;  he  hated  Manius,  who  had  sought 
to  destroy  him;  he  despised  the  vile  and 
stealthy  son  of  Herod,  who  had  plotted  to 
rob  him  of  love  and  life;  he  had  begun  to 
doubt  the  goodness  of  the  great  Lawgiver. 
No  sooner  had  he  found  an  enemy  than 
his  God  was  become  a  god  of  vengeance. 
The  council,  the  continued  failure  of  his 
prayers,  the  cruelty  of  impending  mis- 
fortune, the  death  of  Cyran  had  weakened 
the  faith  of  Vergilius.  He  had  begun  to 
founder  in  the  deep  mystery  of  the  world. 
The  voice  of  the  old  singer  had  not  broken 
the  spell  of  bitter  passion.  Vergilius  trem- 
bled with  haste  to  kill.  He  feared  even 
that  his  anger  would  abate  and  leave  him 
unavenged.  There  were  memories  which 
bade  him  to  forgive,  and  of  them  was  the 
gentle  face  of  Arria,  but  he  turned  as  one 
who  would  say  "Begone!"  He  had  not 
time  even  to  consider  what  he  should  do 
261 


to  oppose  the  will  of  the  emperor.  As  they 
rode  on,  his  companion  addressed  the  young 
commander. 

"Saw  you  Manius  in  the  balcony  of 
Herod?" 

"No." 

"  As  I  passed  beneath  it  I  saw  him  by  the 
side  of  Salome,  and  I  heard  her  say :  '  Not 
until  you  slay  him  shall  I  be  your  wife.' 
I  fear  she  means  you  ill,  good  friend." 

' '  She-cat !' '  exclaimed  Vergilius.  ' "Tis  a 
yowling  breed  that  haunts  the  house  of 
Herod." 

They  came  soon  to  where  a  throng  was 
gathered  thick,  so  for  a  little  they  saw  not  a 
way  to  pass.  In  the  midst  were  three  men 
sitting  upon  tall,  white  camels,  their  trap- 
pings rich  with  colored  silk  and  shining 
metal. 

"They  speak  to  the  people,"  said  David. 
"  It  must  be  their  words  are  as  silver  and 
gold." 

"  I  doubt  not  they  be  story-tellers  from 
the  desert,"  said  one  behind. 
262 


The  press  parted;  the  camels  had  begun 
to  move  slowly.  One  of  their  riders  hailed 
the  young  commander,  saying,  in  a  voice 
that  rang  like  a  trumpet: 

"Where  is  he  that  is  born  king  of  the 
Jews?" 

"I  would  I  knew,"  was  the  answer  of 
Vergil  ius. 

"So  shall  ye  soon,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  We  have  seen  his  star  in  the  east  and  have 
come  to  worship  him." 

The  camels  passed  with  long,  stately 
strides.  The  horsemen  resumed  their  jour- 
ney. 

"Strange!"  thought  Vergilius,  turning  his 
charger  and  looking  back.  "  They  be  sure- 
ly those  who  have  travelled  far." 

The  squad  of  cavalry,  under  plume  and 
helmet,  moved  on,  passing  the  Joppa  gate 
and  riding  slowly  down  a  long  hill. 

"See  the  glowing  clouds  yonder,"  said 
Vergilius,  pointing  westward. 

"Ay,  they  be  fair  as  the  tents  of  Kedar," 
was  the  answer  of  David. 
263 


There  is  a  great  beauty  in  the  sky  and 
the  blue  hills,"  Vergilius  remarked,  thought- 
fully. 

"  And  you  would  kill,  look  not  upon  them 
—they  are  so  fair." 

"  If  I  close  my  eyes,  then,  I  do  see  a  thing 
more  fair." 

"What?" 

"The  face  of  one  I  love.  It  is  a  love 
greater  than  all  other  things — fame  or  king 
or  fatherland." 

"Or  revenge?"  inquired  David. 

For  a  little  Vergilius  made  no  answer; 
but  presently  he  said:  "I  am  a  Roman; 
who  seeks  my  life  shall  lose  his  own." 

They  came  upon  a  ewe  lying  in  the  road- 
way. She  looked  up  with  a  mute  appeal, 
but  moved  not.  She  seemed  to  reckon  upon 
the  kindness  of  them  approaching.  The 
squad  parted,  passing  on  either  side.  All 
drew  rein,  and  one,  dismounting,  stood  a 
moment  looking  down  at  her.  Then  laying 
hold  of  her  fleece,  he  moved  the  ewe  tenderly 
aside. 

264 


"A  sign  and  a  wonder!"  said  the  Roman 
knight,  as  they  continued  their  journey. 
"  That  old  fighter  has  no  hand  for  kindness." 

"But  mark  this  miracle  of  God,"  said 
the  friend  of  Vergilius.  "He  softens  the 
heart  of  those  with  young  and  makes  gentle 
the  hand  that  touches  them.  Ay,  has  he 
not  softened  the  heart  of  the  world?  Tis 
like  a  mother  whose  time  is  near." 

Soon  a  purple  dusk  had  overflooded  the 
hills  and  risen  above  the  splendor  of  Jeru- 
salem. The  old  capital  was  now  like  a 
dim,  mysterious,  golden  isle  in  a  vast, 
azure  sea.  Vergilius  thought,  as  he  went  on, 
of  those  camel-riders.  He  seemed  to  hear 
in  the  lift  and  fall  of  hoofs,  in  the  rattle  of 
scabbards,  that  strange  cry:  "Where  is  he 
that  is  born  king  of  the  Jews?" 

Darkness  fell  upon  those  riding  in  silence 
on  the  lonely  road.  Suddenly  they  drew 
rein,  listening. 

Said  Vergilius,  whispering:  "I  thought  I 
heard  voices." 

"And  I,"  said  David,  his  words  touched 
18  265 


with  awe.    "  'Twas  like  tens  of  thousands 
singing  in  some  distant  place." 

Again  they  listened,  but  the  song,  if  song 
it  was,  had  ceased. 

Then ,  boldly,  as  one  who  would  put  down 
his  fear,  the  color-bearer  spoke  up :  '  'Tis 
a  band  of  shepherd  folk  on  some  far 
hill.  Never  saw  I  so  dark  a  night.  By 
the  curtains  of  Solomon,  I  cannot  see  my 
horse!" 

"There  is  no  star  in  the  sky,"  said  an- 
other. 

Then  said  the  young  commander,  whist 
with  awe:  "Look  yonder!  A  light  on 
the  hills!  I  saw  it  appear." 

Amazement  was  in  the  tone  of  David: 
"  Nay,  'tis  a  window  of  paradise!  Or  may- 
be that  time  is  come  when  the  three  great 
stars  should  gather  side  by  side.  Do  you 
not  remember  the  talk  of  the  astrologers?" 

"I  say  'tis  a  light  on  the  hills."     Ver- 
gilius  now  spoke  in  a  husky,  solemn  whisper. 
" See,  'tis  larger;  and  I  would  think  it  near 
the  village  of  Bethlehem." 
266 


After  a  moment  of  silence  he  added,  with 
a  laugh :  "  Why  stand  we  here  and  whisper, 
like  a  lot  of  women  ?  Let  us  move  on." 

Again  he  seemed  to  hear  peals  of  song  in 
the  sky  and  their  rhythm  in  hoof  and  scab- 
bard. It  put  him  in  mind  of  that  strange, 
mysterious  chant  of  the  old  singer. 

Soon  he  drew  rein,  saying:  "Halt  and 
listen!"  They  stopped,  conscious  only  of 
the  great  silence  of  the  night.  Vergilius 
felt  for  the  arm  of  his  friend. 

"What  think  you?"  said  he,  his  voice 
full  of  wonder.  "  I  doubt  not  the  sound  is 
in  our  fancy." 

"  See !  The  star !  It  grows !' '  said  David, 
eagerly.  'Tis  like  a  mighty  lantern  hung 
in  the  dome  of  the  sky." 

Then  said  Vergilius,  a  pagan  fancy  filling 
his  mind :  "  It  may  be  God  is  walking  upon 
the  earth." 

A  moment  they  rode  on,  looking  up  at  the 
heavens.  Suddenly  Vergilius  bade  them 
halt  again,  saying:  "Hist!  What  is  that 
cry?" 

267 


Now  they  could  hear  a  faint  halloo  far 
behind  them. 

Then  the  bearer  of  the  colors  remarked : 
"It  might  be  the  squad  of  Manius." 

"  God  curse  him!"  said  Vergilius,  quickly, 
his  heart  filling  with  passion  dark  as  the 
night  around.  He  heard  no  more  the 
great  song,  but  only  the  smite  of  steel  in 
deadly  combat.  He  seemed  to  see  his 
enemy  fall  bleeding  at  his  feet.  "I  will 
take  what  Herod  offers,"  he  thought.  "  I 
will  make  war  on  the  cats  and  the  ser- 
pents." 

He  had  forgotten  everything  now  save 
his  bitterness. 

"See!  Tis  gone!"  said  his  friend,  in  a 
loud  whisper.  "  The  star  is  gone !  I  saw  it 
disappear  as  if  a  cloud  were  suddenly  come 
over  it." 

All  drew  rein,  looking  into  the  sky.  Many 
stars  were  now  uncovered  in  the  vault  above 
them. 

"  'Twas  a  light  on  the  hills,"  said  Ver- 
gilius, with  a  vague  fear  in  him.  "Yon- 
268 


der  I  can  see  a  smaller  one.  Tis  a  lantern. 
Look!  It  moves." 

Suddenly  they  were  startled  by  a  mighty 
voice  that  seemed  to  travel  far  into  dark 
and  lonely  caverns  of  the  sky.  Like  a 
trumpet-call  it  resounded  over  the  gloomy 
hills — that  cry  of  the  camel-rider: 

"Where  is  he  that  is  born  king  of  the 
Jews?" 

Vergilius  whispered,  his  awe  returning: 
"They  are  coming — those  men  who  rode 
the  camels." 

Said  David,  his  voice  trembling:  "They 
are  like  many  who  have  gone  abroad  with 
that  ancient  hope  in  them." 

The  horsemen  now  stood,  breathing  low 
as  they  listened.  Vergilius  was  full  of  won- 
der, thinking  of  the  awe  which  had  fallen 
upon  him  and  the  others.  He  tried  to 
throw  it  off.  "We  waste  time,"  said  he, 
starting  his  charger.  "Come,  good  men, 
we  have  work  to  do." 

Awhile  they  rode  in  silence,  their  eyes 
on  the  light  of  the  lantern.  Slowly  they 
269 


came  near,  and  soon  saw  its  glow  falling 
upon  rocks  and  moving  shadows  beneath  it. 

Then  said  David,  turning  to  Vergilius: 
"The  battle  —  suppose  it  goes  ill  with 
you?" 

"111!"  said  the  Roman,  with  rising  ire. 
"Then  Jehovah  is  no  better  than  Mars." 

They  could  now  see  people  standing  in 
the  light  of  a  lantern  which  hung  above  the 
entrance  of  a  cave.  Its  opening  was  large 
enough  to  admit  a  horse  and  rider. 

"Soldiers  of  Caesar!" — the  whisper  went 
from  mouth  to  mouth  there  in  the  light  of 
the  lantern. 

The  horsemen  halted. 

"I  shall  soon  be  done  with  this  traitor 
to  friend  and  king,"  thought  the  tribune, 
dismounting  and  approaching  the  cave. 

That  group  of  people  under  the  light,  see- 
ing symbols  of  Roman  authority  and  hear- 
ing its  familiar  voice,  fell  aside  with  fear  in 
their  faces.  A  woman  standing  in  the  en- 
trance of  the  cave  addressed  Vergilius,  her 
voice  trembling  with  emotion. 
270 


"Good  sir,"  said  she,  "if  you  mean  harm 
to  those  within  I  pray  you  go  hence." 

"  I  know  not  who  is  within,"  he  answered, 
as  both  he  and  David  passed  her.  Fear- 
ing treachery,  they  drew  their  swords.  Just 
beyond  the  entrance  of  the  cave  both 
halted.  A  man  stood  before  them,  his 
face  full  of  high  authority,  his  hand 
raised  as  if  to  command  silence.  He 
was  garbed  like  a  toiler  and  somewhat 
past  middle  age,  his  beard  and  eyebrows 
long  and  gray.  A  lantern  hung  near  his 
head,  and  well  beyond  him,  resting  peace- 
fully on  the  farther  floor  of  the  cave,  were 
horses,  sheep,  and  oxen.  The  man  spoke 
not  save  by  the  beckon  of  his  hand.  With- 
out a  word  they  followed  him.  The 
light  of  the  lantern  seemed  now  to  glow 
with  exceeding  brightness.  They  stop- 
ped. On  the  straw  before  them  lay  a  beau- 
tiful young  maiden,  a  child  upon  her  breast. 
Her  arms,  which  encircled  the  babe,  her 
hands,  her  head,  her  whole  body,  and  the 
soul  within  had  a  glow  of  fondness.  Nature 
271 


had  clothed  her  for  its  great  event  with  a 
fulness  of  beauty  wonderful  and  yet  familiar. 
In  her  soft,  blue  eyes  they  saw  that  peace 
and  love  which  are  a  part  of  the  ancient, 
common  miracle  of  God.  They  saw  more, 
even  the  light  of  the  world,  but  were  not 
able  to  understand.  Calmly  she  looked  up 
at  them.  Waving  strands  and  masses  of 
golden  hair  lay  above  her  shoulders  and 
about  the  head  of  the  child  upon  her  bosom. 
It  was  lustrous,  beautiful  hair,  and  seemed 
to  glow  as  the  bearded  man  came  near 
with  the  lantern.  What  was  there  in  the 
tender,  peaceful  look  of  the  mother,  what 
in  her  full  breasts,  what  in  the  breathing  of 
the  child,  what  in  the  stir  of  those  baby 
hands  to  make  the  soldier  bare  and  bow 
his  head  ?  He  leaned  against  the  rock  wall 
of  the  cave  and  covered  his  eyes  and 
thought  of  his  beloved  Arria,  of  his  dream 
of  home  and  peace  and  little  children. 
The  sword  fell  from  his  hand.  A  great 
sickness  of  the  soul  came  on  him  as  he 
thought  of  those  evil  days  in  Jerusalem  and 
272 


of  his  part  in  their  bloody  record.  There 
and  then  he  flung  off  the  fetters  of  king 
and  emperor. 

He  knew  not  yet  who  lay  before  him. 

As  he  looked  through  tears  upon  them 
they  seemed  to  be  covered  with  light  as 
with  a  garment.  David  knelt  before  the 
mother  and  child  in  adoration. 

Vergilius,  full  of  astonishment,  turned  to 
look  around  him,  and  saw  Manius,  who 
stood  near,  trembling  with  superstitious  awe. 
The  wonders  of  the  night,  the  great  star  and 
song  in  the  heavens,  the  glowing  cave,  the 
mysterious  child  and  mother  had  wrought 
upon  him.  Were  they  omens  of  death  ? 

"Apollo  save  me!"  he  whispered,  turn- 
ing to  go. 

David  rose  and  approached  Manius,  and 
spoke  with  lifted  hand. 

"Apollo  cannot  save  you,"  said  he. 
"Kneel!  kneel  before  the  sacred  mother 
and  put  all  evil  out  of  your  hearts!" 

Vergilius    knelt,  and    then    his    enemy. 
Manius  began  to  weep. 
273 


"O  God!  who  hast  softened  the  heart 
of  the  world,  give  us  peace!"  said  David. 

Again  they  heard  that  voice  which  had 
greeted  their  ears  in  Jerusalem.  It  spoke 
now  at  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  saying 
again :  "  Where  is  he  that  is  born  king  of  the 
Jews?" 

David,  going  to  the  door  of  the  cave, 
answered:  "Here,  within." 

"Tis  he  —  the  new  king!"  the  tribune 
whispered.  "  I  thought  kings  were  born  in 
palaces,  and  here  are  they  so  near  the 
beasts  of  the  field." 

Soon  came  David,  and  behind  him,  follow- 
ing in  single  file,  three  men,  a  God-sent 
majesty  in  step  and  countenance.  Ver- 
gilius  and  Manius  moved  aside,  saluting 
solemnly  as  the  men  passed.  The  young 
tribune  turned  to  his  friend  and  to  Manius. 

"  Come,"  he  whispered.  "  The  Judge  of  all 
the  earth  is  here,  and,  as  for  me,  I  dare  not 
remain." 

Softly,  silently,  they  departed,  their 
hearts  lifted  to  that  peace  none  may  under- 
274 


stand.  Gently,  gently,  Vergilius  took  the 
hand  of  him  who  had  been  his  enemy.  They 
had  forgotten  their  bitterness  and  the 
touch  of  awe  had  made  them  kin. 

"All  debts  are  paid,  my  brother,"  said 
Vergilius.  "I  forgive  you." 

He  struck  his  sword  deep  in  the  earth. 
"  Henceforth  it  shall  be  for  a  ploughshare," 
he  added. 

The  assessor  bowed  low,  kissing  the  hand 
of  Vergilius,  who  quickly  mounted  horse. 

Then  said  the  latter,  turning  to  his  fol- 
lowers: "Come,  let  us  make  haste.  Before 
the  gold  is  shining  in  the  great  lantern  of 
Shushan  I  must  be  on  my  way  to  the  sea." 

"On  your  way  to  the  sea!"  said  his 
friend. 

As  he  answered,  the  voice  of  Vergilius 
had  a  note  of  longing  and  beloved  memo- 
ries: "Yes,  for  the  day  is  come  when  I  re- 
turn to  the  city  of  Cassar.  Nothing  shall 
separate  me  longer  from  my  beloved.  But 
come,  let  us  seek  Appius  at  the  beacon- 
fire." 

275 


On  all  sides  the  great  shadow  was  now 
thick-sown  with  stars.  The  group  of  horse- 
men, with  colors  flying,  rode  swiftly  down 
the  broad  way  to  Jerusalem.  Suddenly 
they  drew  rein.  Great  surges  of  song  were 
rolling  in  upon  this  rounded  isle  from  off 
the  immeasurable,  mighty  deep  of  the 
heavens.  Beating  of  drums,  and  waving 
of  banners,  and  trumpet-sounds,  and  battle- 
cries  of  them  unborn  were  in  that  new  song 
—so  it  seemed  to  those  who  heard  it. 
Winding  over  the  gloomy  hills  near  them 
under  the  light  of  the  great  star,  they 
could  see  a  long  procession  of  shepherds 
bearing  crooks.  Awhile  the  horsemen  look- 
ed and  listened.  The  host  of  the  dead 
now  seemed  to  cry  unto  the  host  of  the 
living : 

"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest  and  on 
earth  peace,  good-will  towards  men." 

Slowly  the  song  diminished. 

"The  everlasting  gates  are  lifted  up," 
said  David,  thoughtfully.  Then,  thinking 
of  the  perils  of  the  new  king,  he  added :  "  I 
276 


beseech  you,  say  nothing  of  these  things 
abroad." 

The  song  had  ceased.  A  cloud,  with  all 
its  borders  bright,  now  curtained  the  great 
star.  Another  band  of  horsemen  were  de- 
scending the  hill  from  Bethlehem.  Swiftly 
they  came  near  and  halted. 

"  God  send  you  peace,"  said  the  voice  of  a 
maiden.  "  We  seek  one  Vergilius,  officer  of 
the  cohort." 

"And  who  is  he  that  you  should  seek 
him?"  said  the  young  tribune,  dismounting 
quickly. 

"  My  lover,"  said  she,  a  note  of  trouble  in 
her  voice,  "  and  I  do  fear  his  life  is  in  peril." 

Vergilius  was  at  her  side.  Now  the  light 
of  the  great  star  shone  full  upon  them. 

"  Blood  of  my  heart!"  he  whispered,  lift- 
ing the  maiden  from  her  horse. 

"Oh,  you  that  have  made  me  love  you 
with  the  great  love !"  she  cried,  pressing  her 
cheek  upon  his.  "  I  have  been  as  one  lost 
in  the  desert,  and  I  thank  the  one  God  he 
has  led  me  to  you." 

277 


A  moment  they  stood  together  and  all 
were  silent. 

"God  has  answered  my  prayer,"  said  he. 
"But  how  came  you  here?" 

Then  she  whispered:  "I  came  with 
Appius,  and  the  emperor  has  written  that 
we  are  to  bring  you  home." 

"And  we  shall  live  no  more  apart,"  said 
he.  "  Tis  a  night  of  ten  thousand  years, 
dear  love.  The  Christ  is  come." 

"The  Christ  is  come!"  she  repeated. 
"  How  know  you?" 

"Have  you  not  seen  his  light  in  the 
heavens  nor  heard  the  mighty  song?" 

"Yes,  and  all  the  night  we  have  been 
full  of  wonder.  Listen!" 

Again  the  air  trembled  with  that  peal  of 
song: 

"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on 
earth  peace,  good-will  towards  men." 

Slowly   it   sank   into   silence.     Vergilius 

drew  the  maiden  close  and  touched  her 

ear  with  his  lips  and  whispered:     "Love 

has  opened  our  hearts  to  the  knowledge 

278 


of  mighty  things.  It  has  led  us  to  the 
Prince  of  Peace." 

Then  said  the  maiden:  "Let  us  build  a 
temple  wherein  to  worship  him,  and  make 
it  a  holy  place." 

"And  call  it  home,"  said  the  young 
knight,  as  he  kissed  her. 


THE    END 


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